


With a Little Luck

by MystyVander



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternating, Felix Felicis, Healer Draco, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystyVander/pseuds/MystyVander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life isn’t fair. Even with a little luck, you may never get what you want. But often, you’ll get exactly what you need. When Draco Malfoy finds a helpless Harry Potter, he quickly learns a lesson in not only luck, but love and life. HP/DM Slash, Rated Mature for earlier chapters, Explicit further on. Warning of past abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I am very excited to start another fic with everybody. This one in particular is very much a hurt/comfort. It is also intended to be medium-long in length, so please bear with me. I will be updating a chapter every Sunday, so you can always expect an update then. 
> 
> Many wonderful thanks to my beta, ArithmancyMaster or as she should be called, Latin Lover – I really am astonished by how much you always seem to know about the English language! Thank you again for making this new story possible. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> xx, MystyVander.

Anxious didn't begin to describe the feeling creeping louder under Draco's skin. As his shoes hit the pavement in unison with his walking stick, one hand curled around its head, his other restlessly flattened his hair pulled back into a ponytail. He reminded himself to breathe; to remain composed but still appear approachable.

Seven years had passed since he saw the end of the war – six years since his release from Azkaban and four from the end of his probation. In his free years he had completed a prestigious training program at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, landing a low security job in the Potions and Plants Poisoning department. But he strived for more. The ward in which he hoped to work had an opening at last, it was the long term Spell Damage ward. However, the chances that the job would be given to a convicted Death Eater were slim despite him knowing he was probably the best qualified applicant.

It was for this reason that Draco paused a block away from St Mungo's entrance, stepping aside from the crowd of muggles, and withdrew a vial from his jacket's breast pocket. The vial contained a clear liquid, not much thicker than water. Although Draco was an astute Healer, he was still an even better potion brewer. It had taken him eighteen months to brew the unstable concoction and this was one of the few purposes he had in mind for it.

There was nothing like a little luck during a job interview.

Draco uncorked the perfected Felix Felicis, tipping his head back and taking two drops from it. "That should last an hour at least," he thought aloud, safely stowing the precious liquid away.

The effects took place within a few moments. His body tingled with a static energy before settling as he started off in the direction of St Mungo's again. Draco felt his confidence grow with each step, his thoughts blurred as an uncharacteristic grin grew on his lips.

At the doorstep of the enchanted St Mungo's, Draco didn't even pause. He walked on, his smile faltering as he did. Only briefly did he question why he was striding past the place of his appointment; but he walked on with sureness, handing fate over to dear old Felix.

It was at the twenty minute mark when Draco's logical mind began to grow louder in his consciousness. 'But my interview!' he frantically thought, eyes growing wide as his watch told him he was already late. 'There is no bloody way I will be getting that position now…where am I?' Draco blinked, becoming aware of where he had suddenly stopped. It was an unfamiliar area and he had come before a shabby complex six stories high.

Draco strode to the front door. An elderly lady was on her way in with several heavy grocery bags. "Here, let me help you," Draco offered, unknowing as to why he felt the strong urge to assist her.

The older lady smiled up at him, unlocking the door. "Oh, young man, how lovely of you," she said thankfully. Draco relieved her of her groceries, stepping into the building alongside her. It was a typical building, ungodly wallpaper in the hall and lights that hadn't been dusted in a decade. "It's not often young people are as courteous as you these days. It makes an old woman wonder whatever happened to standards," she spoke aimlessly as she led Draco slowly up the stairs and to her door just several feet from the second story landing.

"You are hardly old, ma'am," Draco complimented.

The old lady was fumbling with her keys and blushed, swatting playfully at Draco. "Hush now, son, no need to humour an old soul. Are you visiting friends in this building?"

"Yes, actually, up on the fourth," Draco lied, the words coming so easily he was startled by them.

"Oh! You must be friends of Justin and Harry, bless them. Thank you for your help dear, you can just put my bags down here," she gestured at their feet.

The mention of a familiar name perked Draco's attention, he shook his head, 'There are a lot of Harry's out there,' he reasoned. "Why do you say that?"

"They're the only young folks here, dear. Refreshing, really, but I'm sorry lad, I saw Justin down at the market, and he was on his way to work."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, Felix was urging his feet to be moving again. "It's actually Harry who will be expecting me. Speaking of which, I believe I am late. Thank you for the company," Draco inclined his head politely.

Upstairs he went, his feet carrying him before he could even think twice about it. Before he approached the door, he felt the push of its wards against him as he landed on the fourth floor. The reality that Felix had led him here and the aforementioned Harry was the one he was dreading to see was dawning on him. " _Divellere_ ," he murmured, wand in hand. 'Even though I know I shouldn't be here, or that I should even knock accordingly, I know I have to…' Draco's thoughts trailed off as his body was moving of its own accord, wordlessly unlocking the door and pushing it open. "Hello?" He wanted to call out but as he did he noticed his throat was suddenly dry.

The flat was quaint and nearly void of natural light. Everything looked normal; nothing out of place or askew. Draco found himself moving further into the apartment, looking around for any indication of who were its inhabitants or for something amiss. 'The potion would not have led me here without good reason,' he reminded himself as he continued inward, past the kitchen, the pantry and then he stopped as he came to the small hallway that led to the more intimate rooms.

A picture hung on the wall, painted a putrid yellow hue, and in it a boy and his family stood smiling and waving at the camera on the ruined steps of Hogwarts. It was dated 1997 and Draco recognized the boy as Justin, from his year, but he couldn't place his house or last name. Justin had been but a speck on his radar while he attended Hogwarts. Another boy always outshone Draco's social interests.

Draco continued down the hall till he came to another ward intruding upon him; it was on a room accompanied by four separate padlocks on the door. Without hesitation, despite the feeling of Felix Felicis wearing off, Draco lifted the wards and cast a whispered, " _Alohamora_ ," on each lock. Draco took a deep breath to prepare himself knowing that if a door were locked its contents must be either of value or dangerous. But nothing could prepare him for the sight that beheld him.

There he was. Broken, bruised, bloodied and unconscious. There he lay; a pale shadow of the man Draco had last seen. Shackled at his wrists, lying on a soiled mattress on the floor: no shirt, no trousers, no wand and no dignity.

Fourteen years of biases, preconceived notions and altruistic abhorrence vanished in a moment. Draco's luck had run out, and apparently so had the man's before him. "Harry-fucking-Potter," he muttered, astonished.

His words stirred Potter. From his fetal position, he mumbled incoherently and moved his head. Draco reacted immediately. He was kneeling at his side, his hand tentatively reaching for him to further rouse Potter. As his skin made contact with Potter's shoulder, the man woke with a commotion.

Potter yelped and scurried back on the mattress, his arms raising to his head as if to shield himself. "Potter, calm down!" Draco snapped, the scared man flinching with each word. "I am going to get rid of these cuffs, okay? Just hold still, I need to identify –"

"Please," came the croaking, fragile whisper. "Please," he reiterated.

Draco felt his heart sink; his stomach was somewhere in the pit of his bowels. Potter didn't just sound weak or broken…he sounded irreparable. "No more. Please, sir…" his voice dropped with his head into his hands, defeated.

The proper, respectful pronoun instantaneously enraged Draco. He wasn't naïve to not understand the situation. The verbal gesture of subservience disgusted Draco to his core – especially coming from Potter. "Alright, that's it, you're coming with me, Potter," he said decisively, wrapping his hands about Potter's wrist in an attempt to pry them from his face.

At the contact, Potter violently responded. He began to scream shrilly at the top of his lungs. "Merlin, Potter!" Draco swore, unhanding him. He immediately calmed although his breathing remained erratic. "Would you just look at me? I'm not him, I'm not Justin. It's Draco Malfoy," he attempted to explain, all to no avail. Potter seemed to refuse to lift his head, his eyes had yet to see Draco.

A pulse of magic hit him like a gentle wave. Draco blanched as he recognized it and the resounding crack that accompanied it. "Harry! What the fuck do you think you're up to?!" Came the thunderous, guttural and angered voice along with heavy footsteps.

The urge to use a number of Unforgiveables was only suppressed by Draco's quick prioritization of Potter and his safety. Draco scooped Potter – far too light for his build and age – into his arms despite his wailing protest. Holding tight to the flailing man, Draco closed his eyes and apparated with a crack.

When his feet met solid ground once more, Potter scattered from his arms and tumbled to the floor. He looked wildly around at the unfamiliar surroundings, scurrying backwards until he hit Draco's desk. They were in the study of his home outside of Wiltshire, they were alone and safe but the sudden new surroundings awakened Potter's fight or flight response. And he was trying to fly.

"Potter, you are at my home. I apologise for handling you the way I did but I had to," Draco said softly as he approached Potter, his hands open and out for Potter to note his passive intentions.

Wide, bloodshot emerald eyes glazed over as they finally focused on Draco. "M-Malfoy?" he stuttered unsurely and before Draco could respond, he slumped over, lifeless.

Draco swore and hurried to him, catching his head just before it connected with the floor. Potter's breathing was steady but he was unconscious once again. Sighing, he called his only employed House Elf. "Cally, I need you to retrieve me my potions. The kit which is in the kitchen, not the one in the bathroom," he ordered. "Bring it, a glass, and pitcher of water to the guest room."

Cally looked between her master and the guest, her bony features contorted uneasily. "Yes, Master Draco," she disappeared with a bow.

Draco shifted the frail body against him and into such a position that he cradled him as one would a newborn. 'He's certainly as defenseless as a newborn,' he thought idly. It took only a few short minutes to maneuver Potter through the doorway and down the hall into the guest room. Draco lay him on the bed, his body relaxing immediately as Draco's hands left his skin.

Now that he was able to take a moment to assess Potter, his head began to swim as a knot tied itself in his chest. His hair was unruly as ever, the right side of his head had a mass of dried blood caked into it, he had a thick line down his forehead and to his jaw. Potter's left eye had a healing bruise and his cheekbone was jutted out at an odd angle. Around his neck Draco noted thick, grasping bruises with a few lesions. Further down his chest hosted a variety of cuts new and old; some appeared to be burns, others were lashes. His ribs were prominent, obviously he had not been eating well for a while. Just before Draco's eyes fell on his briefs he saw an odd mark, a scar which had healed in a strange shape. Leaning closer, Draco growled as he made out the letter 'F'. 'Didn't that little imp of a man, Justin's, last name begin with F?'

"That fucking bastard," he hissed. Resisting the urge, Draco continued his examination. Potter hosted a myriad of bruises, cuts, lesions and oddly shaped lacerations. His back was the most torn.

As delicately as possible, Draco removed Potter's shackles careful not to wake him. Cally arrived with the potion kit and water. "Towels and cloths, Cally. A bucket of warm water as well," Draco instructed. Although he didn't specialise in this type of healing, Draco believed he knew enough to mend some of the newer wounds and quicken the healing of the others.

With his wand steadied over him, Draco began to do a preliminary survey. He summoned some parchment and his everlasting quill from his study, taking notes as he went along. All of Potter's vital signs were moderate, however, his pulse was fair. Draco assumed this was because of the malnutrition which showed clearly after just a moment of his examination. Not wanting to waste time, fearing that Potter would react to him the same way he had before once he woke, Draco prioritised what needed healing first.

"Bones," Draco muttered to himself. In his training, he was always told to assess any broken bones first – stabilise and set them if possible. Using a full body orthopedic diagnostic spell took concentration, but Draco knit his brows together, took a steady breath, and exhaled as he began the movements over Potter's still body. " _Abnormes Os Contritum Revelare_."

Potter's entire body became suddenly illuminated, however, it quickly dissipated and only a few points were left glowing a dull blue. One, however, was a bright purple that nearly blinded Draco. He swore again. He had several fractured and improperly healed ribs, three spinal compression fractures from no more than a few months ago, and one healing ankle and tibia fracture, as well as the newest and brightest – his cheekbone. Setting to work, Draco first applied a heavily soothing balm which would numb Potter was he worked his magic, setting the bones.

Slowly, methodically, and careful to heal Potter with absolute precision, it took Draco nearly an hour to set each bone without stirring the man. Taking precise notes of the fractures, how he set them, and which ones would still need care and for how long till they were healed, Draco conjured a chair for him to sit back on. He was perspiring now, he felt drained from the extensive use of advanced Healing spells. He was not used to such magic.

Taking the water, which he had requested for Potter's sake, Draco drained the glass and refilled it – just in case the raven-haired man awoke. Unwilling to test the limits of his magic on such a currently frail patient, Draco used the cloths and warm water Cally had brought. With care Draco began to wipe the blood from Potter's head. It took him nearly as long just to clean his front side as it had to set his healing and broken bones. Draco left Potter the dignity of leaving his briefs on, foregoing the area for cleaning at the present moment.

The warm water soon turned tepid; it was stained red when Draco finally stopped his ministrations. Once again, Draco took notes as he would have done a patient at St. Mungo's. "Bloody hell, Potter, how did this happen?" he swore aloud, standing back to capture a full survey of his body again.

Having cleaned him and worked with the bones, Potter already looked improved and yet he was worse than any other patient Draco had ever seen. Casting a tempus, Draco was shocked to see three hours had gone by since he missed his appointment at St. Mungo's. The thought of it angered him, however, he had more pressing matters to attend to at the present moment. His mind was reeling with questions, ones he would be unable to answer, and he was resisting the urge to apparate straight back to this Justin character's flat. 'What kind of sick man does this to somebody? To the bloody Chosen One?' Draco shivered. Nobody deserved this; he had not seen this kind of brutality since the war.

With the last of his energies, Draco had his potions kit splayed out on the bedside table. His hand ran over the familiar concoctions and he was thankful for his obsessive nature in having a sufficient stock always brewed. He pulled out a salving balm and lazily began to rub it over the wounds, once again beginning from his head and working downwards. All the while, he had to stop his thoughts from racing away from him. He did not the distraction of becoming irrational – not now.

"Master Draco, sir," Cally called from the ajar door.

"Quiet, Cally," Draco warned her, to which she bowed obediently.

"Master has two owls, sir, they is not letting Cally take letters. They is in Master's bedroom," Cally informed him, her voice barely even a whisper.

"Thank you, Cally. I'm done with this now, just leave the potions and glass," Draco gestured towards the table of soiled cloths and bloodied water. Cally nodded her understanding as with a few quiet, small movements she was bundling them all up in her scrawny arms and taking them out of the room.

Draco took another glance at Potter, he still appeared to be unconscious. Wary of leaving him alone, Draco stepped outside the room and drew in whatever strength he had left to cast a ward on the room. It would inform him if Potter awoke. With heavy feet, Draco retreated to his bedroom and most certainly did find two owls there waiting for him, giving one another uneasy glares.

Taking a letter from each of their talons, he waved them off. Unravelling one, he sighed at Blaise Zabini's familiar scrawl.

_Draco,_

_Where the bloody hell were you? You missed your appointment! You've been waiting for this for years! Is everything alright?_

_Owl me immediately._

Undecided as to what he should say, Draco decided against owling his friend and instead shoved the scrap of parchment into his trousers. Opening the other one, he felt dense disappointment set into his chest.

_Mr. Draco Malfoy,_

_This letter is being sent to you on behalf of the Human Resources Department and Committee for New Employees at St. Mungo's Hospital for Injuries and Magical Maladies._

_At ten o'clock this Monday, the twentieth of April, the year two-thousand and four, you were absent from a mandatory process in our new hires program. Due to this circumstance, you will no longer be accepted for further consideration_ _in respect of_ _the position which you applied for._

_Best Regards,  
_

_Secretary of Human Resources,  
Ephraim Inglewood._

"Fucking hell," Draco kicked at the corner of his bed and dropped the letter, running a hand through his hair. He had wasted his only chance, completely blown it, and for what? To rescue Potter from the throes of domestic abuse? Why the bloody hell did Draco have to save the bloody Saviour?

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Draco sighed. It was not even dinner time and yet his whole life had been turned around in one morning. Draco now faced the dilemma of what he should do with Potter. Of course he could bring him to St. Mungo's, where at least he had shown enough reputable behaviour that he would not be immediately blamed for the injuries to the Saviour. At least he hoped he would not be.

Calling an auror or bringing him to the Ministry was absolutely out of the question. They no longer trusted veritaserum or legilimency as means of determining an individual's innocence; never since the war when they discovered so many could outsmart such tactics. Draco would have no way to prove that he was not the one who did this to Potter and his history worked against him.

What he really wanted to do was apparate back to Justin's flat and use each and every dark curse he could think of on the man and get the whole story out of him. 'No,' Draco quickly shook his head, his fists clenched on his knees, 'If Justin reported me, it would be his word against mine.' The Wizarding World did not see the Mafloy name as it once used to and Draco would have to be careful.

Once Potter awoke, once he was able to converse with Draco, then the man would ask the patient what he wished to do. For now, Draco would do what he could.

Something tugged under Draco's skin; the ward was going off. Hurrying down to the room, Draco was surprised at what he found once he got there. Potter was on the floor in the corner of the room, the one furthest away from the door, and he was cowering with a pillow tucked into his chest. His eyes were barely visible over the top of the pillow and they were wide, frantic and frightened. The man was shaking violently.

Cautiously, Draco walked into the room, being careful to appear as non-threatening as possible. His hands were outstretched, palms up, to show Potter he once again meant no harm. "Potter," Draco began softly, but at the sound of his own name, Potter flinched. " _Harry_ ," Draco corrected himself softly, coming down to his knees now that he was a meter away from the man. Potter did not flinch at the use of his first name and even his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Do you know who I am?" Draco inquired, his voice a whisper.

Potter nodded, his arms tightening their hold on the pillow as he drew his legs closer to his chest. "D-Draco Malfoy," he stuttered. His voice was dry, uncertain, and certainly not the voice Draco ever recalled Potter having.

Draco nodded approvingly, inching his way forward slowly enough that Potter did not seem to notice it. With his injuries, he shouldn't be anywhere but in bed, and Draco still needed to clean and heal the wounds on his back. "Do you know where you are?" Draco asked.

Potter paused for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "A bedroom," he settled with.

A tight, uneasy laugh escaped Draco's throat. "I guess that is all you would know. You are in my home. I live outside of Wiltshire. Nobody else lives with me, just my House Elf, Cally," Draco explained, knowing well enough that with any traumatized patient, it was best they understood their surroundings. "Do you remember how you came to be here?"

It only took a moment before Potter's demeanor changed. His eyes became fearful and he was trembling again, he cowered his head forward, fully burying it in his pillow. "Please don't bring me back! Please, please! I-I don't want to…I-" his voice croaked and all Draco could hear being elicited were whimpers.

'Is Potter crying?' Draco thought astonished. It was certainly a sight he never thought he would see. "I won't, ever," he promised. "You are safe here, Harry. You have nothing to worry about," Draco tried to sound reassuring.

Slowly, the trembling ceased and the whimpering became silenced. Potter poked his eyes over the pillow again and brought it down far enough that his mouth was seen as well. Draco winced at the black eye and the cheekbone – it still didn't look quite right. "I apparated you here. I apologise for doing it in such a brash manner and for handling you when you didn't wish to be handled," Draco said; 'Get the patient to trust you. If you do something to abuse that trust, do what you have to in order to regain it,' he thought, his training sounding in his head.

"Why?" Potter questioned.

Draco's eyes widened at the question – he had been asking himself that very one all morning; why him, why Potter, why on the day he had his interview, and why when he had taken the Felix Felicis? "May I help you back into bed, please? It is not good for your condition to be down on the floor," Draco said, opting to ignore the question. He truly did not have an answer for Potter.

Eyeing him steadily, yet careful not to make direct eye contact, Potter eventually shook his head. "I-I can do it," he said. As he stood, Draco tried to offer his hand by gently grabbing his arm to help him up, but it caused Harry to cry out and pull himself back from Draco's touch.

Putting up his hands in defense, Draco stood himself and backed up. "I apologise. Please, try again and I will not help this time. I will stand over here," he said, moving to the other side of the bed.

Warily, Potter stood and inched his way over to the bed, wincing with every step.

"Can you lie on your stomach? I need to examine the wounds on your back – I will not touch you unless you say it is okay," Draco assured.

Doing as he was told, Potter laid himself down on his front with his arms at his sides. Draco refrained himself from swearing and instead bit his lip, suppressing the urge to go off about the state of Potter's back. He wanted so desperately to know how Potter had come to be in this situation, but he knew asking now would be redundant. He needed to build a relationship with the patient first, it was the most essential part of Healing.

From his shoulders down to his hips were slashes. It was obviously Potter had been whipped regularly. Some were old, some were newer, and some were completely settled in scars. They ranged from small to inches long and a few centimetres thick. Some were deeper than others and Draco was amazed he wasn't seeing bone and sinew, yet. Most of the wounds were surrounded with dried blood, some of the larger and newer ones still prickled with it. Something about the wounds unsettled Draco, more than they would have, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I am going to use my wand to examine you now. I will not touch you, but I need to examine you with magic," Draco said, withdrawing his wand, but Potter was shaking his head.

"No, please, no magic," he whimpered.

Wanting to growl in frustration, Draco set down his wand on the bedside table. "Okay, no magic. Can I at least clean the wounds with my hands then? I will just put warm water and a cloth on them, that is all," he explained.

"O-Okay…" Potter trailed off, he did not sound entirely sure he liked either option but he did not seem particularly able to deny Draco both methods, either. He seemed so subdued, so subservient, and seeing and knowing that enraged Draco even more.

With magic ruled out, Draco had to leave the room before he could call Cally to retrieve more water and cloths. Once he returned, Potter had not moved an inch, and he began his work. He was completely careful not to touch his skin with his own and it took quite some time for Draco to clean his wounds. They both remained silent throughout the process, besides when Potter would make a small, protesting noise, every few moments.

Once he was finished, Draco set aside the cloth and settled back on his chair. "Can I not heal you with magic?" he asked quietly, almost with a hint of desperation. Even with the wounds cleaned, they looked terribly painful and they ran the risk of becoming infected.

"No magic," Potter repeated, mumbling against the bedclothes.

Sighing, Draco reached for his potions kit which still lay open from earlier. "Potions, you have to at least take potions, Potter," he exasperated and then swore underneath his breath as the raven-haired man flinched, " _Harry_."

"Potions? I…" Potter's voice once again became lost but Draco was certain he saw a slow now.

"This," Draco said, retrieving a cloudy vial from his case, "Is a nutrition potion. It will help replenish whatever vitamins and minerals you are currently lacking," he explained, handing to Potter who was still on his stomach and seemed uncertain whether or not he should move. "And this, is a pain reliever," he handed him a second vial. "Take them both and I will give you another in six hours."

With the potions in his hand, Potter still did not move from his stomach, but he was peeking out from the side, looking sidelong at Draco, his eyes bearing into his abdomen. It was as if he were waiting for something.

'He is waiting for instructions. He is waiting for me to tell him to move, again. Bloody hell, Potter, how broken are you?'

"You can move, Harry," he said softly.

Immediately, Potter rolled onto his back again, a strangled whine being emitted from his chest at the pain of moving. Eyeing the potions warily, Potter eventually tipped them back as he propped himself up on his elbows. He scowled at the taste of them which caused Draco to laugh lightly once again – anything to lighten the mood. "They taste wretched, I know. If I had enough time, I think I would discover a way to make every potion taste better than they do," he shared.

Potter didn't respond to his words and instead handed him back the vials, careful not to touch Draco's out-stretched hand as he did. "If you won't let me heal you, you should rest, Harry. You desperately need it," Draco instructed, standing up from the chair and closing up the potions kit. 'Potter is going to be needing a pain reliever and nutritional potion every six hours for Merlin knows how long…I'll need to go brew a large batch of each. He would also benefit from Skele-Gro, I should prepare some of that as well, and-' He had been thinking to himself as he began to leave the room, knowing he would not get any questions answered yet – not until the trust was built, but Harry made a noise again as he neared the door.

Draco looked over his shoulder at the man who had pulled himself under the covers now and was clinging to them. "S-stay?"

The request was so small, so quiet, and Draco couldn't even be upset about it. Potter had been abused, Potter was broken, so much so that he even felt safer and more at ease in the presence of Draco – of all people.

Walking back over to his chair, Draco took a seat. "Of course," he said gently. He was unaware of how long he sat there staring at Potter's back before he himself followed his old classmate into sleep.


	2. Chapter Two

Draco woke with a start. There was a small, wrinkled hand on his forearm, gently shaking him awake. “Master Draco, sir, you is having a visitor,” Cally whispered.

Looking at Potter, who still appeared to be asleep, Draco nodded and rubbed his eyes with his hands. He groaned as he stood up – his back aching from falling asleep in a wooden chair. Grabbing his wand from the bedside table, Draco left the room before he cast a tempus to check the time. It was half past eight at night already.

Cally was toddling along behind him as he made his way down to the study – if he had a visitor, chances were they had come through the Floo. “Cally, I need you to clean the guest room but you must be certain not to wake the man who is in there. If you do, I need you to come get me immediately. Do you understand?”

“Cally is understanding, sirs,” the House Elf bowed and disappeared back up to the bedroom.

As soon as his feet reached the study, Draco was bombarded with questions. “Are you bloody barmy? Four years you’ve been complaining about this bloody position! Four years! What happened? Is everything alright? You looked knackered, Draco! Is it your mother? Your father?” Blaise Zabini didn’t end his rushed ramblings until Draco shot him a glare.

Ignoring the questions, Draco made his way to the small tray of spirits and firewhisky which lay with waiting glasses in crystal vases on his drink tray by his desk. Draco poured himself a dry scotch, immediately downing it and scowling at the burning sensation as he poured another one. Blaise had walked up behind him and was staring at him wide-eyed. “Bloody hell, are you going to pour me one, too?” he teased.

“Help yourself,” Draco grumbled as he took his now full glass over to his desk and sat down in his oversized chair. It was most certainly more supportive and comfier than the wooden chair he had conjured up in the guest room.

Blaise took his time retrieving a drink and pulling one of the larger armchairs from by the fire to sit adjacent from Draco. He eyed his best friend for a few moments before leaning forward, concern written across his features. “What happened, Draco?”

“A right bloody mess,” Draco muttered and sighed. Knowing he was unlikely to hear the end of Blaise’s questioning, he didn’t see why he couldn’t share – besides the intimate details of the matter at hand as those were not his to tell. Draco had patient confidentiality in mind, apparently. “First, I need to tell you that I have finally finished the Felix Felicis I have been brewing.”

“What? You actually finished it, mate? Merlin! How much did you get out of all that time?” Blaise was excited, leaning forward more still, his dark eyes alight and a grin pulling at his full lips.

“Just under eight ounces. An ounce is good for an hour,” Draco explained flippantly, this was unimportant. “Given the fact it is near impossible for me to have succeeded in the interview, I decided to take two ounces of Felix Felicis.”

“You took Felix Felicis for an interview? Draco, I hardly think that’s allowed…” Blaise had a hint of worry in his tone, though his eyes were still wide with amazement – brewing Felix Felicis was no simple task.

“If you are believing it is illegal, it is not. Immoral? Perhaps, but I needed every bit of help I could get for this interview and you know that more than anybody else,” Draco spat, he didn’t need his morals questioned, he had not the temper nor time for it. Blaise conceded by leaning back in his chair and patiently waiting for Draco to continue his retelling of the morning. “After I took Felix Felicis, I felt it take control of my senses. It felt as if I could not be stopped, as if each step I took had a purpose that was larger than fate itself. I had walked right past St. Mungo’s without even realising it and once I did, despite _knowing_ I should turn around, I simply didn’t. The luck potion kept urging me to continue walking and it took me to a neighbourhood I have never been before. I walked until I came to a building and…

…the potion simply had an alternate path for me to take this morning. I could not argue with it, I could not force myself to do anything other than what I was doing,” Draco clarified. It was difficult to put into words the feeling that Felix Felicis gave him, how he felt unable to control himself yet surer than he had ever been in his whole life.

Blaise had been listening intently and when Draco took a pause here, reaching for his drink once more, his best friend placed his own glass down and leaned forward again, this time with an earnest expression crossing his features. It startled Draco for a moment when he looked across at him for Blaise was never known to take life that seriously – that was Draco’s job.

“What was the building? What happened to make you,” Blaise paused, as if searching for the defining word to relate to his friend, “To make you as you are,” he appeared unable to exactly grasp what Draco was exuding. Was it anger? Sadness? Weariness? Blaise was uncertain and not knowing disconcerted him.

Draco sighed. He wanted to tell him, to share the burden that was newly thrust upon him by Felix Felicis, but he simply couldn’t. It was not his to share and it was a delicate, private matter even he felt as though he were invading upon. Viewing himself as the confidential Healer and Potter as the patient was the only way he could rationally continue from here and he simply, as a Healer promoting the best practice, could not elicit such private information. “I cannot share that with you, Blaise, it’s a private matter I need to handle on my own,” he said at last.

“Draco,” he returned concernedly.

“No, I am honest when I say that I wish I could share it with you but this private matter is not mine alone and I have no right to speak with you on it. Perhaps in the future I can…right now, I just have to deal with it on my own,” Draco was firm with no room for argument, not that Blaise could get him to budge on the matter.

Pursing his lips, understanding the stubborn nature of his best friend, Blaise accepted it. “Is there anything I can do to help at least? You look absolutely knackered, mate.”

Draco forced a small smile of appreciation, it did not quite reach his bloodshot eyes. “I would actually appreciate if you could hand deliver a letter for me. I need to take my vacation post-haste and will not be able to attend work for the rest of the week. I will describe it as a family emergency.” Draco idly thought in a way it was. Though Potter wasn’t his family, it certainly was an emergency. “I do not wish for the letter to get put aside in the mail sorting department or, Merlin forbid, lost, so may you please deliver it to Healer Downey?”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed at the mention of taking his vacation – the matter must be of a larger scale than even he had earlier assumed. However, he knew Draco’s unwillingness to share would not change and he simply nodded. Blaise would help in whichever way he could.

Draco drafted and sealed the letter he needed Blaise to deliver. Just as he was seeing him out of the Floo, and as he was being offered more assistance should he ever require it, the upstairs ward went off. “I have to go,” he said suddenly, “See yourself out, Blaise.” Without waiting for a response, Draco hurried out of the study and down the corridor towards the guest room – Blaise’s curious gaze following him till he was out of sight.

As he opened the door to the guest room, he saw Potter sitting up, wincing as he did, and bringing his hands towards his eyes. He rubbed his eyes with his palms before sharply removing them from his face, realising there was a secondary presence at the door. However, at seeing it was Draco, he relaxed. “How are you feeling?” Draco kindly asked.

Potter pushed himself backwards so that he was pressed up against the backboard; he drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them. Unlike before, he was not using them as protection, as something to shield himself with, he simply appeared to be doing it as a comfort as he did not flinch nor move away from Draco as he came near. “Would it be alright if I asked you specific questions on how you are feeling? I just want to know how well you are healing and what I can to do help. You don’t have to speak, you just have to nod or point,” Draco explained slowly. Now that the patient was more stabilised, coherent, and less afraid of him, he needed to draft a more detailed summary of his overall state of well-being.

“O-okay,” Potter stuttered, his voice still meek, yet the sound of the verbal response caused a small, fleeting smile on Draco’s lips.

Retrieving his parchment, ink, and quill, Draco began his questioning. Starting with the most vital area of the body, the head, he asked, “Does it hurt?” There was a slow shrug in response. “Potter-dammit, sorry, Harry,” he swore, disliking the flinch he caused the man to have. “I need more than that. I need you to nod or shake your head. I need you to be able to determine whether or not it hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Potter muttered, his head falling into his knees. He sounded distraught, as if he had disappointed Draco.

With wide eyes, Draco was once more shocked with the amount of conditioning he had seemingly undergone. “No, Harry, please don’t be sorry I just – I just want to help,” he reiterated, reminding himself that Blaise had said the same to him not long ago. “If you feel up to speaking with me, will you answer with a number? Please be honest, Harry.”

“Y-yes. A number,” Potter nodded as he slowly raised his head again to rest it on the backboard.

“How much pain is your head in? Just the top of it,” Draco clarified.

“Two,” he whispered.

Draco was uncertain if he could take that number literally. Perhaps Potter was merely trying to sound as though he did not need help? That he was not in much pain but the opposite was obvious? Was he afraid if he were in pain he would disappoint somebody?

“Your face?” Draco continued.

“Four,” Potter responded.

“More pain is to be expected here,” Draco reached forward but as his hand drew near, Potter flinched and turned his face away. “I promise not to touch you,” he swore to which Potter slowly angled his face towards Draco once more as he made a circular motion above his skin in the area of his healing cheekbone. “You have a broken bone here, it needs time to heal,” he explained before returning to his parchment. “Your neck?”

The questioning continued until they reached Potter’s toes and with each number that Draco recorded, he felt confident he was actually receiving somewhat truthful data. Potter had ranked his back as the most painful, hitting a number eight, and for him to admit this Draco thought it reflected well on his other areas.

“I would like to concentrate on healing your back first, but it does not seem to respond very well to the strongest salve I have and can make. Will you consider allowing me to use-“

“No magic!” Potter sharply cut him off, his voice raising to a nearly average level before he quickly flushed and lowered his head again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…j-just no magic, please.”

Frowning, Draco nodded. “No magic,” he repeated. “It will heal, I promise, it will just take longer.”

“It’s okay,” he said weakly, his voice cracking as he did, his face still hidden. “It’s okay if it never heals.”

“It absolutely is not,” Draco sternly returned. The sharpness in his voice did not scare Potter nor make him recoil as Draco had worried it might. Instead, he was met with shining emerald eyes that appeared to be  measuring him, but when they lingered on him just a moment too long, Potter snapped them back down to stare at his knees. Resting back into his chair, Draco sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt stiff and tired, more tired than he had been in a long time.

“Harry, I do not know what happened to you and I do ask that you tell me but I understand you do not wish to, not now, not yet, and perhaps not ever, and I will respect that. However, as it stands I am your Healer and you are my patient. I need to care for you, and…and nobody, especially not the Golden Boy, deserves this. You deserve to be healed, to feel better, for Salazar’s sake you deserve the bloody world – you saved us. All of us. As much as it used to peeve me,” he grumbled earnestly, “You deserve anything you want.”

Potter was quiet for a moment, unmoving, and when he spoke it was a mere whisper. “I didn’t do anything worth any of that.”

“Oh, no? Did I imagine the Dark Lord, then?” he bit back sarcastically.

“His name is Voldemort,” Potter responded quickly.

Draco flinched at the name, it caught him by surprise. ‘He can’t stand to be touched and yet he can still speak the Dark Lord’s name? Potter, I will never understand you.’ “I would like to put more of that salve on your back and a few other places, perhaps your cheek if you would let me and your neck,” Draco said at last, perhaps it was unwise to begin a reminiscent conversation of their past. It was an inappropriate juncture.

Without verbalising a response, Potter removed the bedclothes from his body and turned over on his stomach, nearly burying his face into his pillow. Draco noted his breathing was shallow, perhaps he felt exposed when he was in such a position. Draco worked quickly as he rubbed the salve over the wounds, having to dab a few of them with a cloth as some still appeared to trickle bits of blood when touched or moved in a certain way.

“Do you feel as though you could eat something? I can have Cally, my House Elf, make you anything you wish,” Draco said as Potter turned over, allowing him to rub the salve gently into his neck and cheek, Harry flinching every time their skin connected.

“Yes, please,” Potter said.

Draco pursed his lips. “What would you like?” Potter bit his lower lip and shook his head, his fringe covering his forehead. Draco had an unexplainable urge to reach out and push it back, though he refrained. “Harry, I need you to tell me what you want to eat.”

“A-are you sure? You want _me_ to choose?” he asked unsurely.

Draco couldn’t place whether he felt angry or perturbed by Potter’s persistent subservience. “Yes, I want you to choose. You always have a choice.”

Tentatively, Potter requested just soup and perhaps some crackers, absently clutching one arm to his stomach as he did. Draco attempted to decipher what it possibly meant; it was clear Potter had not been properly nourished over the past several months, but how severely was the question. Was the thought of food sickening now or maybe even overwhelming?

“I will be right back. I am going to bring you some of my clothes to change into and the food. Is there anything you want? A book? That weird, uh…” Draco paused, momentarily gesturing wildly about as he made his way towards the door, “That square screen Muggles like to watch? I could retrieve you one of those, I am sure of it.”

“A-a telly?” Potter queried flatly. “No, thank you, sir.”

Draco’s stomach dropped at the formality of his words. He was at the door when he turned around, facing Potter with a grim expression. He wanted him, no, he _needed_ him to know that he need not use those formalities besides to those who deserve it. Draco was not one who did. “You don’t need to call me that ever, Harry. Just call me Draco.”

“Draco?” the word sounded odd, coming from Potter’s mouth. “Draco,” he repeated more firmly.

“I will be back,” he promised, leaving the door open behind him as he left. Draco felt wary of leaving Potter unattended for a long period of time so he called Cally as he hurried to his room, summoning some of his larger clothes as he did.

Draco instructed Cally to make Potter and himself dinner, he too would have to do with soup as he did not have the time nor care to have anything more. Before returning to the guest room, to Potter, who was undoubtedly unmoved from the position Draco had left him in, Draco went to his study. He felt unsure of what he could provide Potter with for entertainment. Certainly sitting in a room all by oneself was not good for anyone, he needed to provide Potter with an activity of sorts. Retrieving some texts of varying genres, Draco then returned to Potter with his arms full.

Potter had stayed on the bed yet his legs were crossed beneath himself now. “Can I – Can I…” Potter was struggling to ask something, his brows were furrowed together and worry was written across his features. Setting the clothing and books down, Draco silently encouraged him, inclining his head. “May I…I am really sticky,” he eventually settled for.

“Oh…you want to take a bath?” Draco supplied in return to which Potter slowly nodded. “Of course you may, but first can you please eat? I don’t need you fainting on me on the way down the hall,” he teased, then realised that was most certainly a possibility.

Potter nodded and then his eyes fell curiously upon the texts dumped at the bottom of the bed. Draco picked them up once again and came around to settle in the conjured chair. “I can’t leave you with nothing to do, so I’ve gathered some books, if you want to read. I don’t have much in the way of entertainment when it comes to reading, however, I do have some old wizarding epics I am certain you have never read,” he gestured at a few of the books he had not read in years. “If you ever want, you can make yourself known to my study and use whatever books you may wish in there.”

“Thank you,” Potter whispered, looking down at the books before slowly bringing his hand towards them and then snapping it back again, as if he were going to be burnt.

Draco laid them out on the bedside table, pushing his potions kit shut and to the corner. “They are there and please, if you want to read them, read them.”

“Master Draco, sirs? You is not wanting Cally in the room but Cally is having food for Master Draco and his guest,” the House Elf’s voice squeaked from beyond the hall.

Retrieving the dinner set upon a large serving tray from the House Elf, Draco thanked her and sent her away before setting it down in front of Potter. He stared at the dinner but did not touch it until Draco reached out and took his soup into his own lap, sipping at it. Potter brought a saltine slowly to his mouth and nibbled on the corner. At the first taste, it appeared he had been reminded just how hungry he really was. Potter began to shovel the soup and saltines into his mouth, barely chewing and saving no time for breath in between. Draco slowed him down and urged him to drink water, he didn’t need him getting sick.

Once dinner was done and set aside, Draco voiced that they should wait a while for the bath – after eating so quickly, it might not be a good decision to move Potter just yet. “When was the last time you had eaten before now?” Draco carefully queried. He knew it was important not to push for information, however, he still needed to gently prod, to slowly gain information.

Potter bit his lip and shrugged. “I have no idea,” he admitted and Draco took it for truth. Locked in a windowless room, how could he have known? Was he able to tell the passing of days? Did Potter even have any awareness of how long he had been in there? “Y-you say you are a Healer?” Potter asked, changing the subject.

Being one of the first true inquiries Potter had made, Draco was eager to answer and engage him. “Yes. After I served my time in Azkaban, I took an apprenticeship program at St. Mungo’s during my probation. I have been a Healer there for three years now. I work on the Potions and Plant Poisoning Ward.”

“Do you like it?”

“Being a Healer? More than I thought I would,” Draco said truthfully. “I would prefer to work on the Spell Damage Ward, however, the hospital is uncomfortable allowing me such clearance,” he tried to say the last bit not through clenched teeth. It was only this morning that he had completely blown his only chance at the position. And for what? For Potter…and Draco was still wondering if it was worth it or not.

“Potions. You like potions,” Potter flatly stated.

Draco laughed at that. “I do. If I could make potions my career, I would. Nobody would dare hire a convicted Death Eater to brew their potions, however, nor would they even consider buying ingredients from one. It was not a viable career option for me after Azkaban.”

“I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. “I’m sorry for Azkaban. It must have been horrible,” Potter frowned deeply.

Draco pursed his lips. ‘How can he be saying Azkaban was horrible when it was clearly nothing compared to what he’s been through?’ “Let’s not talk about Azkaban,” Draco said after a moment. “Would you like to take that bath now?”

“Please, si-Draco,” Potter corrected himself, causing a small smile to curl on Draco’s lips. It had barely been a half day and there were small improvements. Potter was resilient, Draco knew this already, and perhaps he truly could help him restore himself.

Draco left the room once more to summon his walking stick – he usually only brought it with him when he went to Diagon Alley or to a meeting. Draco offered it to Potter for support in walking as he knew he would prefer it over his personal assistance. Potter slowly rose from the bed and he took his time walking behind Draco who kept peering over his shoulder to make sure he was still following. Potter tried to mask the pain he felt with each step but Draco continuously reassured him that it was okay to express and feel pain. It was normal and Potter was entitled to it.

Filling the bath as Potter leaned in the doorway, his eyes always trained on the ground as he shook with the weight of his own body, Draco left everything he would need to properly clean himself. Draco’s bathroom was more extravagant than the rest of the home, which Blaise always found amusing. His bath was large enough for four grown men and it resembled a much smaller, scaled version of the prefect lavatory at Hogwarts.

Leaving Potter to his own devices, Draco softly closed the door with the raven-haired man inside. He deserved his privacy and he did not seem inclined to accept Draco’s assistance in bathing. Draco dared not leave him unattended, however, and quickly placed another ward on the door. He had never been good at these particular wards, however, they used them for more volatile patients at St. Mungo’s. If there were any severe change in his vitals, Draco would be alerted.

Feeling more comfortable to go off on his own, Draco called to Cally to have her tidy up the guest room and change the bedclothes. “I need more potions, and some clothes for Potter because mine most certainly will not fit properly,” he mumbled to himself as he wandered about the house, doing this and that. It was well past ten o’clock in the evening now and Draco’s vision was growing hazy. He had been exerting himself and concentrating hard for the entire day and was now absolutely exhausted.

Draco set about closing his Floo as well and sending a note to the only individuals who ever used it: Blaise, Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood, and his mother, saying that it would be out of service and he would be busy for the next few days. Bringing the letters up to the attic, Draco instructed two of his three owls to each deliver two of the letters. As soon as he was about to settle in his room for a moment of peace, a moment of sitting and allowing his thoughts to straighten themselves out, the wards went off.

Running, his wand gripped in his hand just in case, Draco threw the bathroom door open. Potter was sitting on the ground, his hand clenched on his shoulder, fully clothed in Draco’s clothing. They were too tight yet too long for the man. Draco pocketed his wand as he saw Potter eye it sharply and dropped to his knees before him. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I-I lost my balance, I’m sorry,” Potter muttered, appearing ashamed.

“People fall, Harry, it is nothing to apologise over,” he assured him, bringing himself to a stand and holding out his hand. Potter did not take it and instead used the side of the tub to stand up. Draco leaned over and let out the water, waving his hand to the soiled towels and clothes on the floor. “Leave them be, Cally can get to them,” he instructed as he saw Potter awkwardly eyeing them – as if wondering what to do about the mess. “Come, I want to show you around.”

Potter used the walking stick to once again help support and balance himself as they moved around the home. Draco warned him to take his time on the staircase, and he waited for him on each step. He showed him the study, the back garden (though Potter shied away from all the windows and doors and seemed uninterested in actually stepping outside), the kitchen, Cally’s room, the front garden where there did not seem to be another house for miles, his bedroom, the attic which he had converted into a small owlery, and lastly his small abode in the basement. It was where he brewed his potions and took his time to do his personal work.

“You may do as you wish in this home, nothing and nobody in it will harm you. The wards are not permitted to allow anybody inside of here without myself being present. Cally has been instructed to keep away from you, unless you so wish for her assistance. Feel free to use the bathroom when you need it, my clothing, the kitchen, and anything within the study. The Floo has been closed off so nobody will show up unannounced and I will not allow anybody access to this house, not while you are here. Do you understand?” Draco explained. He wanted Potter to feel comfortable. The more at ease a patient felt with their surroundings and the individuals in their environment, the more likely they were to share and to allow themselves to be healed.

“Thank you, Draco. I-I don’t know why-“

“Please, I’m only doing my job. I’m Healing you, Harry,” Draco cut him off softly. He didn’t need his thanks or appreciation and Draco was certain he didn’t deserve it. He was merely doing what was right.

They were headed back to Potter’s room and Draco asked if there was anybody Harry wanted him to contact to tell them he was safe and he was there. Potter immediately shook his head multiple times but said nothing. Draco allowed the subject to drop for now – he did not want to press and have him withdraw.

Potter suppressed a yawn when he carefully lowered himself back down onto his bed. “I think we both need to get some sleep,” Draco observed, stifling his own yawn. Potter merely nodded and brought the fresh bedclothes up over his body, clinging to them as he turned onto his side, away from Draco.

Sighing, Draco turned from the room. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need me, Harry,” he reiterated as he stood at the door.

Potter didn’t respond but Draco was certain he heard a muffled, “Goodnight,” as he nearly shut the door entirely, leaving it open a crack so Potter would feel as though he could leave if he so wished it.

Thoughts and questions banged around Draco’s head yet he refused to let them be known or become loud enough to distract himself. He needed sleep more than anything and after rechecking the wards on Potter’s room, Draco quickly retired to his room. He was asleep before he could even wriggle out of his trousers.


	3. Chapter Three

“Healer Malfoy? You are not looking very well,” the secretary at the Mental Maladies ward commented concernedly.

Many employees at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries did not care for Draco’s presence and many protested to it, however, Ms. Sabrina Turner was as kind as they came. She would always be worrying over whether Draco was invited to the staff holiday parties, and she tended to sit with him in the canteen for lunch some days when the weather was cold outside – otherwise he would be by himself in the courtyard or accompanied by Blaise if their shifts overlapped.

Smiling gently, Draco nodded. “I am, just have not been sleeping very well,” he admitted, which had a truth to it although the reason for his weariness was due to a resting man, slowly improving in his home.

It had been five days since he had found Harry, and it was with great trepidation that he left him in the care of Cally. Harry was asleep, and knowing him and the fact that Draco had prescribed to him Dreamless Sleep as his rest was never full nor peaceful, he would slumber for a few hours. Draco finally had the time to sneak away, to stock up on potion ingredients and to make this much needed social visit.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Sabrina asked.

“Just sign me in, I need to speak with Healer Burnie for one moment. Thank you,” he inclined his head and started off down the high-ceiling corridor of the ward. The walls were lined with soft, gentle paintings which had no real focal point, no real purpose. Draco presumed the paintings, and the rest of the ward, were designed to have a calming, soothing effect on its patients. It certainly did not do much for him as he approached Healer Burnie’s office at the end of the corridor and around the bend.

Healer Burnie was rather indifferent to Draco from what he believed, which would make this meeting much less painful. Knocking on the door, Draco was permitted entrance and Healer Burnie barely looked up from her paperwork at Draco as she scrawled on a long roll of parchment. “Sit, Healer Malfoy,” she instructed tightly.

Draco sat and patiently waited for her to finish. She placed her quill down on her table, leaned over her desk and blew on the parchment, allowing it to dry. Draco decided he liked Healer Burnie. She was the youngest Head Healer in any ward of the hospital and she was politically withdrawn. As a muggleborn, Draco was even more impressed with her resumethat she had thus far built – and to think she was merely five years older than himself. ‘She didn’t have to serve time in Azkaban,’ Draco reminded himself. She was also a lovely looking woman; slim and tall with long, sleek brown hair and eyes that simply drew you to look at them. Draco had to remind himself that he was uninterested in physical relations with the opposite sex whenever he saw her.

Healer Burnie rolled her parchment and tied it, she then strode from the room without further indication of whether Draco should stay or follow. He decided upon staying in his seat, waiting more impatiently each moment. When she returned, Healer Burnie softly closed the door before resuming her seat. This time, those unwavering, startling blue eyes bore straight into Draco as she leaned forward on the desk, her hands clasped overtop.

“What can I assist you with, Healer Malfoy?”

“I have a few questions regarding…it’s a rather sensitive issue, you see,” he was unsure of where to begin. How could he approach this subject? He needed information, he needed guidance on mental health and stability, something he was not well versed in.

“I have offered my door to you before, Healer Malfoy. If you wish to be seen as my patient, I can draw up a confidentiality agreement this moment,” Healer Burnie said, withdrawing her wand and conjuring a roll of parchment.

“I will repeat what I have told you before, I do not need any assistance. I have been becoming interested in the mental health portion of Healing…I-I had a few questions. Perhaps you could answer them for me, or provide some reliable resources?” Draco presented.

Healer Burnie eyed him warily before slowly settling back in her seat, physically relaxing as she did. “I will help however I am able. Healer Malfoy…may I call you Draco? I suggest we sign a confidentiality agreement regardless, you seem careful with your wording and I would like you to feel free to ask the questions you need to. I care most about helping others, which is the sole purpose of this ward. If you wish for me to help you in any regards, please sign the confidentiality agreement.” With her long, slender fingers, she grasped the roll and leaned forward over the desk, her fingers grazing Draco’s slightly as they transferred the document.

Draco looked between Healer Burnie’s intense gaze and the confidentiality agreement. It could not hurt, he weighed. “Yes, that is fine…but what I need is not strictly personal. It is more…there is a current situation in which I am involved with-“

“The confidentiality agreement, Draco,” she reminded him lowly.

Signing it with the offered quill, the moment he handed it over to her a satisfactory smile grew on her lips – it almost had him shivering because Healer Burnie now possessed an air of pride. As if she had just won at a game. Had he lost? He was unaware of Healer Burnie’s motives, although, he was quite cognisant of how much she longed to have him as a patient despite his absolute denial that he needed any of ‘that sort of help’. ‘I don’t,’ he reminded himself.

“There was an individual who was found by a friend in a fragile state. There are many outlying factors as to why they cannot come to St. Mungo’s for proper care, however, I have taken them on as a private Healer,” Draco began to explain.

Healer Burnie was withdrawing a journal and a quill from her desk. “May I?” she inquired. Draco nodded, it was the Ministry’s standard ‘Write-Myself’ quill set where it would record word-for-word the conversation, no exaggerations. “Does Healer Downey know of your new client? By your employment agreement with St. Mungo’s, you may not take on a private practice.”

“This isn’t a usual client,” Draco bit out, he need not have the parameters of his employment spelled out for him, he had them memorised since the day this opportunity arose for him. “They do not pay nor do I receive any compensation for acting as their Healer. It is more of an extended, burdened favour I am giving for them. They need my care, truly need it, Healer Burnie, but I am unable to provide it properly in terms of their mental health status.”

“Please, call me Holly,” the Healer smiled, her straight teeth gleamed momentarily at Draco from behind her full lips before she became serious once more. “Why is it you that must care for this patient? Is there not another individual that could take over in your place? If it is a mental health issue, you may direct the patient to me-“

“That is out of the question,” Draco said abruptly, perhaps with too much of an edge to his voice. “H-he is mostly non-verbal, and we’re old…we’re old friends,” he fabricated, attempting to hold steady as he described Harry as such a thing, “And he does not wish to even leave the comforts of my home let alone come to stay at St. Mungo’s. He has never enjoyed attention, I do not believe he would like the attention his being here would bring him,” Draco had to be careful in his explanation. He did not want to give away information that once again was not his to give, however, he still wanted to provide the best care a Healer could for his patient.

Holly appeared intent on each of his words, a small smile edging out on the corner of her mouth to which she now hid behind her folded hands. “Ah, so it is simply _impossible_ to have the weight of his care taken from your shoulders then. I see.”

Draco felt like growling at the witch; he knew what she was attempting to get at and he wouldn’t accept it. He simply couldn’t bring Potter to St. Mungo’s – what would the implications be? What would the press do? How would Potter react? Draco had just begun to build the broken man’s trust, he would not throw his progress away.

“It’s not impossible, it’s just not the right choice for him. I am the right decision. There are extenuating circumstances I cannot discuss nor do I need to. The important aspects of what I am trying to get across to you is that he is within my care. He has been in a neglectful and highly abusive environment for a very long time. At least a few months,” Draco redirected the topic back to Potter’s state. This is what he had come for, not to try to offload him onto the Healers at St. Mungo’s. He was going to care for him, he was going to help him get better.

“Neglectful and abusive in what way? Give me details of the situation he was in…does he have lasting injuries? Tell me as if you were reporting the patient to another Healer after shift,” Holly gently instructed, she appeared to be hanging off of Draco’s every word.

Taking a ragged breath, Draco dove into the gritty details. He altered what was necessary to keep the identities of those involved, mainly Potter, unknown, and he made it as though he was not the one to discover him in this situation. Draco described the state of his injuries and the progression since then, his aversion to magic, his flinching upon hearing his last name, his dislike of looking at Draco’s face, his apathy in regards to his own health. He was unsure of how long he had sat there, Holly staring into him as he poured out everything he could manage to tell her, spilling the intimate details of Potter’s mental and physical state while keeping him protected from being known.

“I can heal his physical injuries. Without magic, it will take longer, but I can do that. However, his back presents difficulties as the strongest salve I know of does not appear to make as fast of an effect on the wounds as it should. It is his mental state I am wary with handling as I am not trained in the practice. That is why I need your help. How can I assist him, what does he need, from here?” Draco questioned.

Holly was sitting quietly, her eyes never wavered for a moment from Draco. “With the state it sounds this man is in, you should still bring him to see specialists. Especially due to his fragile mental state. Phobias, fears, and the adverse psychological symptoms he is having is from extensive neglect and abuse. This must have been ongoing for quite some time to have affected him so greatly. However, if that is truly not an option, as a patient cannot be seen or treated against their will, I have some strategies that I can offer as assistance. I could also owl you a few books from my personal collection that may help.”

Draco inclined his head, forcing a smile. “That would be appreciated, Holly.”

It had crept well past lunch time when Draco was finally overloaded with information. He had in his hands a stack of parchment they had written up together and a head full of the beginnings of healing the mentally unstable. It would be a slight weight off his shoulders, to be able to return to Potter with confidence in being his temporary caregiver.

As he was leaving, Healer Burnie stopped him at the threshold of her door. “Regarding your patient’s back. We have seen similar reactions to salves and magic alike over the years. It is rare but when it does occur, it is because there seems to be more to the injury then it would seem. Perhaps it is not merely a forced wound? Can I assume you know how to use a proper identifying potion? We have found some individuals dip weapons or devices in harmful potions with lasting side effects either to brand their victims, ensure a slow healing process, or to heighten the pain the victim feels,” she explained.

Draco frowned. Could that be why Potter’s back was still not healing properly yet all his other injuries appeared to be? Holding out his hand, Draco took Holly’s in his and shook it gently only to have the woman yank him towards her. Their chests were nearly touching and Holly was level to Draco’s eyes. “I expect you to come to me if you or your _patient_ need any assistance,” she said.

“I will, all of this help is greatly appreciated. I will be able to compensate you, please just send your bill with the books,” he said, turning to leave only to find Holly tightening her grip on his hand. Her fingers felt like sharp bones curled around his own.

“Healer Malfoy, does your coming to see me have anything to do with your leave of absence from the hospital?” she queried.

Shaking his hand free, Draco turned to leave. “Thank you again, Healer Burnie,” he said over his shoulder, reluctant to offer her any more information than was necessary.

Thoughts muddled his head as he stepped into the safe apparation area of St. Mungo’s and appeared in Diagon Alley. He quickly made his way to Knockturn Alley to retrieve all the potion ingredients he needed in one place, from an apothecary which would never question what he bought so long as he had the galleons to do so.

Draco’s thoughts bounced at the strategies, the approaches, which Healer Burnie had presented him with. The most important aspect of mental healing, however, was individualised support and time. ‘Time,’ he thought. ‘How much time will I be able to offer to Potter? Will it be enough for him to properly heal?’

“Mr. Malfoy, back again, I see,” drawled an old, larger man from behind his counter. He was always sitting there, with a book in hand, counting and writing down numbers. A store book, of products, galleons, and clients, Draco was certain.

“Darhis,” he greeted as he moved quickly about the store. He had been gone from his home, from Potter, for several hours now and he was itching to get back. What if the man had needed him? What if he woke and was concerned? What if he was in pain? Hungry and refused to call to Cally? The more he thought about it, the more worry welled in his stomach.

Hurrying along, Draco purchased what he needed and apparated home. Since the Floo had been cut off and his wards adjusted for more security, Draco had landed on the edge of his lawn. He walked with a brisk pace up to the front door, unlocked it and entered. “Potter? I’m back,” he called. He was met with silence. Draco was uncertain whether to feel relieved or more concerned.

Starting towards the kitchen to unload his parcels from the apothecary, Draco startled as somebody emerged from the threshold before his living room. “You were gone,” Potter simply said. His eyes were sunken, but no longer bruised, and they nearly met Draco’s – but not quite.

“I had told you I would be, before you fell back asleep. Remember, I woke you early this morning before I left?” Draco gently returned.

Potter nodded. “I know.”

Draco pursed his lips. Potter had an odd habit of stating what they were doing, or something that was obvious, as if he needed to say it in order to understand it. Running his eyes over Potter, Draco noted he was still favouring his left side. Otherwise, he appeared in much better health than Draco had found him in. His figure was already filling back out, he was much more substantial than before, and his hair was no longer matted with blood and dirt, yet it was still unruly as ever and ran down to his shoulders it was so long.

“How are you feeling?” asked Draco.

Shrugging, Potter left the question unanswered as he lifted up his right hand. He was holding a large book in it. Draco raised an eyebrow. He recognized it immediately as he had memorised it from front-to-back many years prior. _The Basic Art of Healing_ was etched into the front in gold lettering. “Could you have chosen a drier book?” he drawled and turned from Potter, the parcels in his arms proving heavier than they were originally.

Potter quickly followed, apparently content to remain close behind Draco. One of the improvements over the past few days was that Potter not only could handle Cally’s presence, but also seemed to prefer it when Draco was close to him. This resulted in Potter following after him whenever he was awake and felt well enough to be away from his bed. This had started on the third day of Potter’s arrival to his home, it was the first time he had emerged on his own and without prompting. It had surprised Draco, but he couldn’t help the satisfactory smile that tugged at his lips. Potter’s emergence had been a win – a small one, but a win nonetheless.

“I-I thought if I might learn the magic, I wouldn’t mind you using it on me,” Potter mumbled, his head hanging.

Draco blinked a few times as he turned away from where he had just unloaded his parcels onto his kitchen table. “That’s actually a brilliant idea,” he complimented, why hadn’t he thought of that before? The few injuries Potter had left, not including those on his back, could be healed within moments using magic. If reading, understanding the spells and the healing would make Potter comfortable, then he could feel fit in no time.

“I’ve read a bit,” he began again, his voice always low and soft, as if concerned he would speak too loudly. “But, I want to know what spells…what do you want to do to me?”

“What do I want to do _for_ you?” Draco corrected. He didn’t like Potter to think in those terms, that Draco was doing things to him. He was healing him, for him, not to do any harm to him. Potter shrugged at the correction and looked down at his feet. “I can bookmark some pages for you, if you would like,” he suggested.

“Please.”

Draco turned back to his parcels. Some of the ingredients would need to be stored properly and some he wished to use right away. Turning towards Potter he queried if he could call Cally and once he had received a nod in response, he called to his House Elf to make them both lunch. As Cally set about in the kitchen, Draco was unsure of where to lead Potter. He knew he would follow, but he needed to spend this time on his lower floor to brew some potions. Was Potter as uncomfortable with potion brewing as he was magic?

“I need to brew some potions and prepare some others. My supplies are running low. I will not need to use magic, however, I will be brewing potions. You are welcome to come, unless it makes you uncomfortable,” Draco said slowly.

Potter merely nodded as Draco gathered the parcels once more and headed off for the basement. Draco need not turn around to see if he followed; he could feel Potter’s presence like a light weight on his back, or a stale breath added to his air. Potter had been down here once before, when Draco had shown him his home, but it would be the first time he truly got to look at it at length.

Turning on the lights, Draco revealed his small potions room. It was circular in shape and held only two chairs, three tables, and a copious amount of cupboards. Each cupboard had an enlargement enchantment placed on it so it could hold its maximum capacity of ingredients. One cupboard was full of vials of potions that were finished brewing – none of which were conducive to Potter’s healing save the Dreamless Sleep.

“You may sit,” Draco directed him to the chair furthest away from the cauldron. The other one was on the opposite side of the long table – it was designated for cutting and preparing ingredients. “How do you feel?” he asked for the first time that day as he started about unloading and unpacking his parcels.

Potter didn’t answer, he merely looked down at his shoes as he slid up onto one of the chairs – the one further from the table. Draco didn’t mind his silence, he actually preferred for Potter to be near him instead of locked away up in that guest room. He assumed Potter grew tired of being in one room, Salazar only knew how long that wretch Justin had kept him locked up for.

Draco kept himself occupied with stowing away his ingredients and beginning to brew a batch of pain relieving potion, but it wasn’t just any pain reliever. Draco hoped to add a calming component to it, perhaps to help with Potter’s nerves. The combination of which may make him feel more relaxed which, all Healers knew, helped patients on their road to recovery. As he was slicing up a newt eye into thin, oblong pieces, Potter spoke at a decibel just above a whisper.

“It took you a long time to get ingredients,” he commented.

Nearly losing his concentration, Draco paused only for a moment, the knife slipping in his hands as he startled from the noise. “I had other errands to run, at St. Mungo’s. I work there, remember?”

“Yes. Why don’t you just buy the potions you need?”

Having finished with the newt eyes, Draco dropped them into his brewing concoction. Having to pause here, he stirred the cauldron four times counter-clockwise before retrieving the lavender leaves and grinding them up in his mortar. “I’m not particularly inclined to trust anybody selling potions to a convicted Death Eater. A Draught of Living Death can be made to smell, look, and taste so similar to Dreamless Sleep,” he said, a hint of a grin on his lips. “Besides, what I am brewing nobody else does. I do not merely brew potions, Harry, I make them better.”

Potter made a small noise of recognition but did not otherwise respond.

After a few moments, Potter queried tentatively, “Can you...would you mind talking about what you're doing?"

"For what purpose? Knowing your distaste for the art, I would assume you to find it rather boring to hear in any detail," Draco drawled in return, a hint of teasing in his tone. He hoped dearly Potter caught the friendliness of it and did not take it negatively. Looking up briefly from his ministrations, Draco frowned. Potter was chewing his lower lip and lost in deep thought.

"It's been awhile since I have heard anybody...well, since I have heard them talk when they weren't angry," he mumbled.

Draco sighed. The same questions sprang to the forefront of his mind once again; all of the why's pertaining to Potter's unhealthy situation with Fletchley. Supressing the urge to ask them, Draco merely acceded to the request. Given the circumstances, Draco was certain he would provide Potter with whatever he requested without question. The particular thought startled him. "Alright, well I am brewing a pain reliever with a calming drought. You appear, rightfully, anxious and I thought that whenever you were experiencing large enough amounts of pain it would be conducive to also feel more relaxed at that moments. You may correct me if I'm wrong," he paused, not expecting a response yet hoping for one, before continuing. "This is asphodel, I'm sure you remember it from First Year, unless you really weren't paying any attention at all in Potions, and it is used as a…”

Time droned on and Potter did not move nor speak as Draco described each step in his brewing process. At one point into the early evening, he had two cauldrons brewing separate potions and Potter appeared entranced with him as he worked. His eyes never fully looked at Draco and yet they never truly looked away. Draco felt unnerved by Potter's lack of response and yet revelled in the company, despite his silence. Once both potions were ready to be bottled, Potter finally stirred. "Would you, I mean if I could...I could help with that," he muttered.

Surprise fleeted across Draco's face before he smiled softly. "Of course. You can bottle the healing slave if you wish," he offered, gesturing towards the cauldron. "Do you remember how to?"

Potter slid off the stool lopsidedly, favouring his left side once again as he came to stand by the cauldron containing the healing salve. "Er, sort of. You might want to show me, first," he admitted. Draco was taken aback when he looked over to see a faint red colour Potter's usually pale and sunken cheeks. The embarrassed shade made him appear warm, almost inviting.

Shaking the unnecessary thoughts from his head, Draco nodded and grabbed a collection of unused vials and brought them over, setting them beside Potter. He stood behind him, ignoring how Potter's shoulders tensed at his presence. "If you were comfortable with magic, it would be much quicker, however, I prefer not to transport potions with magic. You never know what side effects can occur due to the altering of the liquid," he explained. "Most cauldrons are certainly too large to lift, so we first have to move the potion from the cauldron to a smaller container and then we simply funnelthe potion into the respective vials. You need only be slow and you will do fine. Here," Draco leaned around Potter's body, pretending he did not notice his sharp intake of breath, and grabbed a hold of the ladle. He pressed it into Potter's hand which he noticed was shaking but said nothing of it. "Use this to put the potion into here," he pointed at a smaller, rectangular steel container with a funnel that lay beside it. "Once you have filled the container halfway, you can use the funnel to pour it into these vials," he leaned forward once more and ran his fingers along the vials.

Potter nodded at each of his instructions. "Cou-could we do the first one together?"

It was Draco's turn to tense. He didn't want to intrude upon him, he most certainly did not want to earn his mistrust simply by touching him unnecessarily. "I will have to touch you," Draco said after a moment. Potter merely nodded. Tentatively, Draco brought his arms around either side of Potter careful to ensure that his front did not touch the other's back. He clasped his hands over top of Potter's which shook but then stilled in his hold. With slow guidance, Potter ladled out some of the salve into the container. While Draco's hands led Potter's, they bottled several vials together. When they were finished with the first container, Draco quickly withdrew and released a heavy breath he was unaware he had been holding.

Potter appeared stiff yet otherwise unfazed by the physical intrusion. Draco quickly noted this as an improvement, smiling smugly to himself before moving over to his own cauldron. "Just go slowly," he advised Potter, "And you will not spill any."

Draco felt triumphant. Potter had let him touch him, had asked him to and still functioned after the intrusion. Maybe he was the right care Potter needed. Maybe he needed somebody who was not only knowledgeable in healing but also able to look at Potter like a human being - not a Saviour on a pedestal. Maybe, just maybe Draco could actually repay the man his life debt.

But, all of his triumphs were short-lived. There was a sudden crash from the table Potter was working at and when Draco looked over the salve was spilling out across his potion instruments and the floor. Some of it had gotten on Potter's shirt and he was staring wide-eyed at the mess before his eyes flickered over in Draco's direction. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, it-it was an accident! I'm sorry! Please, sir! I'm-"

"Harry!" Draco snapped. The raven-haired man stilled immediately, his head hanging low. Draco ran a hand through his hair before gesturing towards the stairs. “Wait for me in the kitchen, I need to use magic to clean this up,” he instructed.

Potter quickly fled, mumbling apologies as he did, and as soon as he was out of sight Draco cast scourgify on the mess. Finishing up bottling the unspilt potion and putting the vials in storage, when Draco retreated to the kitchen he found Potter with his head lying in his arms at the table. He immediately began muttering out apologies once again. “I’m sorry, I’m so useless, I can’t even-“

Draco placed what he knew was an uninvited hand on his shoulder, startling the man and also, thankfully, silencing him. “You are not useless, Harry. That was a mistake and mistakes happen,” he said calmly.

“But, all the ingredients and-and your potion, I’ve gone-“

“Harry,” Draco repeated, “It is okay. I enjoy making potions, I find it soothing. Besides, they were for you anyway, so it was no harm against myself.”

Despite his reassurances, Potter seemed extraordinarily put-off. Draco felt exhausted from his day talking with Healer Burnie, from his potion brewing, and from delicately handling Potter’s state. It was difficult to know where he stood in his recovery. As Holly had made clear, each patient had an individual case and no two were the same. As well, an important aspect of the time it took to heal, or at least be somewhat mended, from the mental scars of abuse, depended on the extent of the abuse and the endurance of it. Draco still wanted desperately to prod at Potter, to question him until he was blue in the face, but he let it be.

Setting down a cup of tea with a plate of chocolate, Draco went off to pour himself a glass of something stronger from the liquor cabinet above his refrigerator. “What’s this?” Potter asked warily.

“Tea and chocolate, it will do you good.”

Potter tentatively picked at the chocolate before finally taking a bite out of it. Draco joined him at the opposite end of the table after calling to Cally, instructing her to make them both dinner. They sat in silence and as always, Draco was thankful for it. He didn’t expect anything from Potter, he was already surprised with the progress he had made. However, whatever progress was made, it appeared Potter would always take a step backwards afterwards.

Draco was concerned with having to return to work in a few days. Four days a week, Potter would be without him for ten hours. He didn’t want him to regress. No, Draco, as for all his patients, wanted to see him improve with his assistance. Before he became a Healer, Draco was unsure what had driven him to the job but when he began it nothing gave him greater satisfaction that seeing a person be healed, seeing them walk out alive when they had come to him nearly dead. At first, Draco was surprised by the elated sensation this gave him, but over time this feeling became the fuel for his job.

It was the same fuel which drove him in healing Potter. His small improvements every day kindled a fire in Draco and yet…yet it wasn’t akin to the fuel he felt at work. It was something deeper, more personal. Was it because Potter was abused that he cared more? Was it pity? Or was it simply because he knew him?

“My back hurts a lot,” Potter said. Looking up across the table, Draco blinked a few times and before he could respond Potter was continuing. “More than anything else, my back hurts. It always hurt the most. Broken bones eventually stopped hurting, my head would stop throbbing, but my back…it never healed. It never got better. It still hasn’t. I-I think he-“ Potter cut himself off, shaking his head as he stared wide-eyed down into his tea. He sounded as if he were choking on a word he wanted to speak of. “If you used magic, could you heal my back, Draco?”

“Yes, I really think I could,” Draco quickly responded. “But first, a colleague gave me an idea today. I would like to, if you would let me, use an identifying spell on the various injuries on your back before healing them.”

“Can I…is the spell in the book?” Potter gestured at the book he still had in his possession which he had taken from the study. Draco nodded. “Can you show me where it is and can I read about it before you do it?”

That fuel rushed back to Draco once more, kindling the ember in him. He genuinely smiled across the table at Potter.

“Of course. Whatever you need, Harry.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would like to add a large warmth of appreciation to Arithmancy Master. Without her, I'm entirely unsure where this story would be.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who review - they make my day! As do the kudos and bookmarks!   
> Further and continual thanks to my beta, Arithmancy Master/Alison. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Ladydark1 - it makes me incredibly pleased to see that you are actually waiting for the updates every Sunday! I hope you continue to enjoy the story! ^_^

Harry was lying naked from the waist up on his bed, his trousers yanked down a few inches about his hips. His arms rested underneath his face as he turned his cheek to the side, peering up at Draco who was hovering over him. “Will it hurt?” he queried.

“Not even a little. It may tickle, depending if you’re the ticklish type,” Draco returned. He grinned as he saw what was becoming a familiar tint of red creep up Harry’s neck. “Just relax, it will only take a moment,” he assured as he raised his wand over the wounds that were clearly visible on Harry’s back.  “ _Invenio_.”

 A warm, yellow glow spilled out from the tip of Draco’s wand and immediately stretched out, like tendrils searching for something to hold onto. They found Harry’s back and quickly nestled into his wounds. Harry fidgeted slightly beneath their touch and bit his lower lip. Draco concentrated on the shape the light and the spell was taking. The yellow hue began to spoil and turn a coffee brown. The light crawled out of his wounds and amalgamated above him. Draco’s eyes narrowed as they began to take a shape.

The identifying spell that Healers used was really quite a useful one, however, it was difficult to read. Most of the time, it could only identify the severity of the wound, but sometimes it could take form, to somehow describe the cause of the wound. It took form in a vial.

Draco swore beneath his breath. Harry brought himself up so he was sitting and facing Draco. “What is it?”

“I think that bastard-fuck!” Draco swore again, even bringing up Fletchley indirectly caused Harry to flinch as if he were being struck. “Sorry, Harry, I just…as surprising as it is to you, and believe me when I say it is equally surprising to myself, I hate seeing what has been done to you. You do not deserve any of it,” he strongly reminded him.

Worry fleeted across Harry’s face. “Will you be able to fix my back?”

“Yes, I believe so, but it will take more than mere healing. I think a strong potion was used to ensure you remained unhealed. I need to take a sample of the freshest wound and test it. I feel uncomfortable healing it when I don’t fully understand the properties of the wound,” he explained and upon seeing Harry’s face fall he quickly added, “I promise you I will heal you, Harry, it just might take some time.”

“You have to go back to work in two days,” Harry stated.

“And whenever I’m not there, I will be here for you, okay? If you would feel more comfortable, we can have you admitted-“

“I don’t need to be admitted,” Harry snapped. Just as soon as the words left his mouth, an apology came afterwards.

“Stop,” Draco warned him, “You need not apologise for expressing yourself. I knew you wouldn’t like the suggestion and as I said you can stay here as long as you wish. I, unfortunately, need to retain my job as having one is not an opportunity that often finds convicted Death Eaters.”

“I wish they wouldn’t treat you like that. You went to Azkaban for what you did and even you didn’t really do anything of your own volition. It was Voldemort and your father twisting your hand into doing it,” Harry muttered, carefully avoiding Draco’s gaze as he spoke.

“I know how you see me, Harry, but you have to understand not everybody sees the world like you. To be fairly honest, I don’t know anybody who sees the world quite like you do,” Draco admitted truthfully.

Harry shrugged. “Hermione once told me I had a tendency to forgive people even when they didn’t deserve it. Not that you don’t!” he added quickly, blushing as he did.

Draco laughed. “You and my mother are probably the only two who believe that, Harry.”

Having to retrieve more ingredients, Draco set off for Knockturn Alley once again where his galleon still held enough weight after he took a sample of Harry’s freshest wound. Harry was much more comfortable at being left alone in the home, especially now that he moved freely about it. He had even taken a liking to Draco’s study. Unable to escape thoughts of his patient, his house guest, his…friend? Draco shook his head, he needed to find a term for Harry that fit but nothing seemed to.

As much as he wished to deny it, he cared for Harry in an odd way. More than he cared for his patients at St. Mungo’s but certainly not in the same way that he cared for his friend, Blaise. It was an odd caring, like when one finds an injured Crup and takes it in and then keeps the Crup as a companion. Is that what Harry was becoming to Draco? It had merely been three days and Draco was growing attached to the quiet presence in his house. He was becoming comforted by his being there.

‘Maybe I have lived alone for too long,’ Draco inwardly reasoned.

Leaving Knockturn Alley, Draco passed by a general wares store. They had artefacts for household chores and little bobs for children – a variety of items. However, something glinted just beyond the window of the shop which caught his eye. The sight of eyeglasses in a container roused the forgotten image of what Harry was before Draco had found him in that flat. The Boy Who Lived with those hideously out of proportion glasses.

Draco, wearing his robe affixed with his family’s signet, reached into his pocket and withdrew his watch. He had been gone from the house from less than an hour, it wouldn’t hurt to at least take a look inside at what the shop had to offer.

When he returned home, Harry had fallen asleep in his study on the Chesterfield. Draco, unwilling to disturb him as rest was still necessary for the rest of his physical healing to take place, retreated to the basement to begin experimenting with the wound. It would have to be a potion which was used to specifically delay healing, or to make a wound cut deeper or worsen over time. Perhaps a poison of some sort and thankfully poisons were Draco’s proclivities from his time spent at the Plant and Poisons ward.

It was difficult to concentrate, on the small amounts of sleep he was able to achieve those days, and the badgering thoughts in his head. Draco longed for the quiet which came easily to him before Felix Felicis ever led him to Harry. And yet, he was glad that he could have ended such a suffering. Over the past few days, he was able to see Harry in a whole new light. Draco put himself in Harry’s situation, simply imaging what could have possibly taken place in that flat within that confined room, and found himself shaking at the thought of it. Draco would not have been able to recover. Hell, it took him years to recover from the nightmares of Azkaban and they still visited him on his darker days. But Harry was stronger than that and perhaps he had always been stronger. He was not the intelligent, flawless man the world took him for, Draco knew that, but he was certainly braver and stronger than Draco had ever given him credit for.

The views Draco possessed as a child were naïve, and driven by jealousy and hatred which seeped from his father into him. Now, seven years later, Harry wasn’t something to hate…but even in this state was he something to pity? No. Draco didn’t quite feel pity. He felt angry that Harry had experienced such injustice. But alongside that anger was something deeper. He felt _proud_ that Harry continued to show daily improvements after such treatment.

Unsure of how long he spent down there, Draco lost himself in his thoughts and his work. Thankfully, his storage of obscure potions which were often never used was well stocked and could be used as comparisons to the sample of Harry’s wound. It was not long before he found what he was looking for and the pride that had swollen earlier for Harry quickly turned into white hot anger. Draco was holding his own potion in one hand and a vial holding the blood taken from Harry’s wound in the other, it had turned the same colour and consistency as the other. He gripped the vials between his hands hard enough he was certain they would shatter and when they did not he threw them across the room, letting out a guttural yell.

Draco seethed. “How could anybody fucking do this to somebody else that didn’t bloody well deserve it?” he growled. Memories of the war rushed back to him. Perhaps that was what his attachment to Harry’s situation was. The cruelty Fletchley had shown Draco had seen elsewhere…at the hands of his Aunt Bellatrix or the Dark Lord himself.

“Draco?” came a small voice from the top of his staircase.

Quickly brandishing his wand to tidy up the broken glass bits, he breathed a heavy sigh and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Draco, are you alright?” Harry asked again as he cautiously treaded down the stairs. Upon the landing, Draco forced a smile which Harry merely frowned at. “What’s wrong?”

“I found out what was used on your back,” he simply said. “It is a potion called **  sanguinem incurso and it is used to attack the blood cells wherever it contacts. I have seen this once before in a poisoning case at the hospital. It can be easily healed, now that we know what it is, but I will have to brew the necessary concoction to counteract the poison and it can take up to a week. I’m sorry, Harry, I wish I could heal it sooner.”

Harry was staring at him from the bottom of the stairs. “Draco,” he started softly, taking small steps forward as he spoke, “However you did it, you found me and took me away from there and now you’re doing your best to heal me. And you _hate_ me. My back has been like this for longer than I can remember, I can wait a week,” he assured him, coming to stand just a few feet from Draco now.

Before he could catch himself, the question tumbled out of his mouth. “How long is longer than you can remember?” he asked, “How long were you there, Harry? How long were you being treated like this?”

Harry paled at the questions and opened and closed his mouth several times before shutting it and shaking his head. “Dammit, I know I shouldn’t ask but I need to know! Both for your sake and my own,” said Draco.

“It’s not that…I just don’t remember how long I was there for,” Harry answered truthfully. “I never thought it would be a permanent arrangement and by the time I realised it was, I had already lost count of my days.”

“When was the last date you remember _not_ being in that room, Harry?” Draco queried.

Shrugging, Harry shoved his hands in the pockets of Draco’s pants which fit him far too tightly. “I honestly don’t remember, Draco. I can remember the year after the war but then…I remember him, I remember them being angry and…I don’t remember, Draco. I-I don’t remember.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Draco shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. Come on, I can’t start brewing the potion I need to heal you now and I’m certainly not going back to Knockturn Alley at this time of the day, let’s go upstairs,” he suggested, and upon remembering the other item he had purchased, his spirits slightly lightened.

Harry let the subject matter die with them as they went upstairs and Draco led him to his room. He had placed a small, rectangular parcel down on his bedside table. “I thought you might need these,” said Draco as Harry curiously tore open the package, with slight trepidation.

Draco watched as Harry’s hands reached inside the parcel and pulled out a pair of eyeglasses, his own emerald orbs widening. “You…you bought me glasses?” Harry questioned, as if the very idea astounded him.

“You have been reading lately and I remember that you were as blind as Trelawney, it only made sense,” Draco said, brushing off the gift. It wasn’t so much a gift as a necessity in his mind but Harry came as close to beaming as he had seen the man do in the past few days. Though his lips didn’t turn into a smile, his eyes were somewhat brighter.

Harry slipped the thin-framed spectacles on, blinking a few times. “They adjusted to my sight,” he mused before his eyes fell on Draco. And unlike before, Harry did not avoid looking directly at him. Draco was taken aback at the startling green that pierced into him. “Thank you, Draco, this means more to me than you could know,” he blushed at his own words.

Draco found himself speechless as he was lost in that steady gaze which Harry bravely held. It was a long moment before the raven-haired man finally turned away, allowing Draco to concentrate once again. “Really, it was nothing,” he murmured, clearing his throat. “I have to, uh, just handle some personal matters in my study. I’ll be there if you need me.”

Before Harry could respond, Draco was fleeing from the room. He couldn’t describe what had happened when Harry looked at him with such intensity, with that unwavering gaze, but it left Draco feeling breathless and dazed. Draco nearly collapsed as he found the refuge of his study, closing the door behind him.

The look of appreciation in Harry’s eyes did not only startle Draco but left him feeling unnerved. And _excited_.

* * *

 The next morning, Draco was amused to awake to the sound of the shower running. He pushed himself out of bed, thinking aloud, “He certainly is making himself at home.”

The thought of Harry feeling comfortable in his home wasn’t upsetting and Draco knew it was a good sign. Another notch on his recovery belt. However, the fact that it was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, wandering around Draco’s home unattended, at ease, and as if he lived there himself, was the most unnerving of it all. At first it had been easy to separate the two, Harry from the Saviour he once loathed at Hogwarts, but now as Harry slowly healed and hints of the boy he knew before were shown, it was proving more difficult.

What was the worst of it all was that Draco truly did not mind his presence, Harry nor the Saviour. He welcomed and savoured both. This thought horrified Draco because he could not explain it, he could not decipher why it was a comfort.

As the shower turned off, the running water coming to a halt, Draco hurried to call Cally and request her prepare them breakfast. He got dressed and combed his hair and upon realising all of his ties for his hair were in the bathroom, he was forced to leave it hanging down around his face. As he headed downstairs towards the kitchen, Draco was stopped in the hall as Harry exited the bathroom.

He was dressed in another one of Draco’s lesser worn outfits which fit him oddly. His raven hair was long and dripping wet, his new glasses pressed against his face were slightly foggy from the heat. “Good morning,” Draco greeted.

Harry looked as if he were about to respond but his face contorted, his brows furrowing and his lips pulling back into his mouth as his chewed on them. “Your hair…I remember when you had shorter hair,” he stated.

With his lack of inflection, Draco was left standing in the hall wondering what Harry meant by his statement. He had his shoulder length hair pulled back into a ponytail most of the times since he had rescued Harry so certainly he must have noticed his hair was longer now than it had been in school? Did he mean that he preferred it? Draco frowned and stepped into the bathroom, retrieving a band from the drawer and pulling back his thin, platinum strands so he could tie them behind his head, out of the way. He paused briefly, looking at himself.

At twenty-four, Draco appeared startlingly like his father did when he was his age.

Unsettled by the comparison, Draco tore his gaze away and left for the kitchen again. Cally was nearly done breakfast and he sat at the table, drawing a fresh cuppa to his lips and savouring the smell of it. Tomorrow he would go back to work. Draco was not looking forward to it. It wasn’t merely the thought of leaving Harry unattended for such a long period of time that concerned him, but also his ability to concentrate and the most certain fact Healer Burnie would seek him out. Now that he had signed a confidentiality agreement, Holly saw Draco as a prize. To examine the mental health of a Death Eater, of a Malfoy, seemed to be revered to her. Draco shuddered at the thought. The last thing he needed was a personal mental health healer. No, Harry needed her, not Draco. Yesterday he had received a small package of books regarding mental healing and a note hoping to arrange another appointment with Holly. Draco did not respond other than to thank her for the loan.

“You wear your hair back,” came a comment from the other side of the table.

Draco started. He had not noticed Harry enter the kitchen nor join him. Bringing a hand behind his head, Draco ran his fingers through his hair. “You’ve only just noticed this?” Draco returned. “Do you like it?” he asked, unsure of why he even bothered with the question – Harry’s opinion on the matter made no difference to him. Harry shrugged noncommittedly, avoiding Draco’s gaze and his question.

Cally served them breakfast and Harry picked at it, more than he had eaten since Draco had retrieved him from the flat, but certainly not enough that it was a healthy portion of a meal.

“I have to return to work tomorrow,” Draco began conversationally. “Are you certain you will be alright here on your own, with Cally?”

Harry nodded, his eyes trained on his plate. “I feel safe here,” he admitted beneath his breath. “Nobody can come here, right?”

“Just the three of us are permitted,” Draco assured him. “I have a few errands to run afterwards so it will be nearly ten by the time I come home.”

“Errands?” Harry queried curiously.

Draco waved his hand. “Ingredients to retrieve, mostly, and a few other things.” Harry nodded, continuing to push food around his plate and every so often pop a small portion into his mouth. “Actually,” Draco continued slowly, “I was wondering if you knew where your wand was. Now that you are becoming more comfortable with magic, do you think you would feel better if you had your own wand back?”

Even without being near him, Draco could sense all the muscles in Harry’s body tense. There was a sharp intake of breath and an even sharper exhale before Harry spoke lowly. “It broke…I-I haven’t used magic since…it’s gone,” he settled with.

Draco frowned. His wand was broken? Did Fletchley do that, too? He left his questions unasked and set it aside for another time. “Tomorrow, if you need me, you can always ask Cally to get me.”

“I know,” Harry stated, setting down his fork with finality. He pushed up from the table and lingered in the kitchen, his eyes roaming across his surroundings. They landed on the window above the sink, overlooking the expansive backyard. It was somewhat kept, considering Draco only had one House Elf (as was the decreed allowance by one of Hermione Granger’s many new laws), but the grass was too tall and there wasn’t much to it. There were wards placed around it so that a passing Muggle could not see any activities because, when Draco had the time to himself before he had found Harry, he would take his old Nimbus 2001 and fly around the perimeter of his house or try to catch a practice snitch with himself.

Harry looked out across the landscape with a haunted gaze. Draco left his own breakfast and came to stand behind him, looking out across the scenery. “The lawn is warded as well, if you would like to go outside,” Draco offered, idly wondering how long it had been since Harry had seen the sun directly.

“Maybe another day,” Harry replied, turning away from the window and freezing as he had not realised how close Draco was to him. Harry’s breath caught in his throat and his eyes found Draco’s only for a moment before a blush sprang upon his cheeks and he cast his gaze downward.

Draco found himself smiling at the reaction. It wasn’t fear that caused Harry to react to his close proximity, but a sort of timid embarrassment. There was an urge that resonated in Draco, to reach up and hold Harry’s arms, to squeeze him beneath the flesh of his skin. Draco was uncertain how much time passed as they remained unmoved, but suddenly Harry was clearing his throat, the red in his cheeks flaming now and emanating down to his neck. “Er, today,” Harry mumbled, “Wh-what are we doing today?”

“I have a little preparation to do in the basement for when I retrieve the ingredients tomorrow, but otherwise I had nothing planned other than a bit of reading I need to finish,” he said, thinking of the three books Holly had sent to him. The sooner he read them, the sooner he could help Harry improve even more and give him the long-term support he may need. And the sooner he could give them back to Holly, the sooner he would not feel so indebted to her.

“Can I…would you mind if I sat with you while you read? I-I don’t like being alone more than I have to be…”

“Of course, your company is always welcome,” Draco quickly responded, subconsciously perturbed at the truth behind his words.

It wasn’t long before the two of them settled in his study, each with a book in their hands. Draco sat at his desk, a roll of parchment and quill ready for him to take notes if need be. He quickly became immersed within his text that Holly had allowed him to borrow titled, _Healing the Unseen_. Harry was resting with his knees drawn up to his chest and a book perched in between. Oddly enough, despite Draco’s suggestion for him to read something a little more excitable, Harry had chosen another healing book Draco had long since studied during his internship at the hospital.

The hours of the morning drifted by and the only way Draco kept time was how deep into the text he was. Harry sighed and slowly closed his book. It certainly was dry, as Draco had warned him. “Why did you become a Healer?” Harry asked quietly.

Draco finished a quick note he was making before saving his page and leaning back in his chair. “I had very limited options.”

Harry turned around on the Chesterfield so he was kneeling on it, much like a child would, and peering over the edge at Draco. “You’re lying. Your family lost a small fortune, not all of it. You have enough money to live comfortably without work. You had other options,” he returned.

Draco raised his eyebrow. “You know what assets my family holds?”

That hue Draco was beginning to find sickeningly _adorable_ appeared on his cheeks. “I was the head of all the proceedings regarding you and your mother,” Harry admitted, “Because I had given the Ministry my word for the two of you, they saw it fit I handled the aftermath.”

That was certainly information Draco had never known. At that point in his life, he was busy being imprisoned that family assets hardly meant a thing to him. “I simply couldn’t spend all of my time at the Manor. I loathed that place.”

“You’re a healer because you’re bored?”

“Not at all!” Draco snapped. “At first, I was unsure if I had chosen the right profession out of the few that were available for me but…” he sighed, standing up from his desk and stretching his arms over his head. “Halfway through my internship there was this old woman brought in. None of the healers on my floor – Plants and Poisons – had any idea what had happened to her. Her condition was rapidly deteriorating and they gave her a mere couple weeks to live. I was doing rounds one evening, a midnight shift, and I decided to read her chart. I wasn’t exactly an authorised healer on her case but I thought another set of eyes couldn’t hurt,” Draco had come around the Chesterfield now and was sitting in the armchair just beside Harry. “I kept reading her symptoms again and again and they just didn’t add up. They didn’t equal plant poisoning to me. Nor did they equal poisoning from any sort of potion I knew. However, if I separated her symptoms into three separate areas, I could at least make sense of it.

By the time my shift ended, I had figured it out. I told the healer on my floor who thought I was worth anything about my theory – that she was being purposefully poisoned using three different agents – and by noon the next day, given the proper antidotes for each of the poisons, she was better than she had been in years. I was able to see her discharged two days later and…” Draco paused, running a hand through his hair. He could still remember the old woman embracing him and his reluctance to return to gesture. She had smelt of hospital bedding and florals, her arms felt frail as she held Draco, and yet she did so without fear or revulsion. “I never knew until that moment how satisfying healing could be. To have watched that woman nearly lose her life and then because of me seeing her walk out of the hospital a few days later. It felt empowering, humbling, and absolutely thrilling, all at once,” he admitted.

Harry was perched on the edge of the sofa, watching Draco intensely as he hung on each of his words. His emerald eyes were full and did not waver from Draco’s gaze. “Is that why you saved me?” Harry asked. “Because it makes you feel like that?”

Draco frowned. “No…I brought you here, I’m healing you, because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Since when does Draco Malfoy do what is right?” Harry countered. There was no malice in his voice, no accusation. He simply sounded as if he were stating a legitimate point.

Suppressing an urge to defend himself, Draco merely leaned forward in his seat and offered his hand forward. “Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy, the Healer, not the Slytherin brat.”

Harry looked between the offered hand, which he did not take, and Draco’s face a few times before his eyes lit-up. Draco took it as a smile, though it did not reach his lips. “Funny,” Harry returned dryly. “I wanted to ask about that day, if I’m allowed.”

“Harry,” Draco said seriously, “You are a grown man, you are allowed to do anything so long as it is legal.”

“Well, I’ve been going over that day in my head and-and…how did it happen, Draco? I don’t understand how you found me, where you came from…where h-he was?” he stuttered at the mention of Fletchley.

Draco rested back into his seat. Though he knew this subject need to be breached, he felt somewhat exposed admitting to Harry what he had done prior to his interview that day. “I had an interview for a position on a floor with more clearance that morning. I have wanted a job on that floor for a long time but unfortunately due to my past they do not see me as fit for the job. Over the past eighteen months, in my spare time, I have been brewing Felix Felicis. Do you remember what that is?”

Something odd ghosted across Harry’s face at the mention of the potion. “Yes. The luck potion.”

“Exactly. I had finished my batch two days prior and used it just before my interview. However, as soon as I took the potion I found myself going places I had never been. Eventually, I wound up in that flat. Without even questioning myself, I went inside and found you. The rest, well, you were present for.”

If Harry was surprised, he didn’t show it. He merely pulled his legs underneath himself so that he was sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Liquid Luck doesn’t give us what we think we want, it gives us what we need,” he muttered beneath his breath and then looked up at Draco, as if searching his face for an answer. “What could you need from me?”

Draco screwed up his face in thought. He certainly had not thought of the situation in that particular way. What could he need from Harry? Why had the potion brought him there? Draco shook his head. “I don’t know why Felix Felicis brought me there, but I’m glad it did. If I hadn’t found you, I wonder how long…” Draco stopped himself, it was a thought he didn’t wish to have. Thinking of anybody in that situation, remembering the countless Muggles he had seen imprisoned and tortured, it was not a pleasant thought, and for some reason thinking of Harry like that…

“I have been reading about mental healing and I keep coming across an important reminder. If anybody begins to fall mentally ill or is put under a stressful or traumatising situation, the length of time in which they are within these situations or fall ill is a critical factor in determining the time it will take them to heal. Each individual experiences the healing process in a different manner, however, but it is all relative to the trauma and the time the trauma is experienced,” Draco explained, carefully watching if Harry had any reaction to his words – he merely stiffly sat and listened, no emotion crossing his face. “I was hoping that since you appear to be feeling better, you may be able to speculate the amount of time you were-“

Harry took in a sharp breath. He was shaking his head, that unruly raven hair falling around his face. “I’m sorry, I-I don’t remember more _about time_ than before.”

Draco raised his eyebrow and spoke carefully. “What do you remember?”

Harry sharply looked up at Draco. For the first time since he had found him three days ago, his emerald eyes were flooding with emotion, his face pulled taut. Instead of fear, of anxiety, he was glaring angrily at Draco as he snarled between his teeth.

“Only things I want to forget.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies about being a day late with this! It was Thanksgiving in Canada - so Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrated it! Either way, I hope you all enjoy this next instalment and thank you for the reviews!

As a teenager, Draco was never apt at deciphering his emotions. Perhaps due to the fact that his mother seldom displayed any, or that his father chastised anything other than pride or anger. Many times Draco had confused jealousy or frustration with hatred.

Had he honestly ever hated anybody?

The answer came quickly. Definitely; he loathed the Dark Lord. The mere thought of him had him shaking. He had ruined his life, torn a fissure in his family which could never be breached, he had given Draco the fuel for his most terrifying nightmares, and he forced him to be marked for life. Yes, Draco hated the Dark Lord. Could he really associate Harry, past or present, with that same type of emotion?

Back at Hogwarts, Draco believed he felt that way. Yet, over time and being distanced from Harry, he was beginning to believe he never hated him. Diliked him, perhaps. Or was it even _Harry_ he disliked – perhaps it was just The Boy Who Lived?

It was Harry’s fame, his ability to get away with anything and everything while at school and even still, the way everybody refused to see him as a person instead of a god, _that_ is what Draco disliked. Or, Draco though bemusedly, it was his lack of hygiene and fashion sense along with his inability to comb his hair. None of it came down to Harry himself.

In all honesty, Draco truly did not know Harry well enough to dislike him.

Draco closed his eyes wearily, bringing both of his hands to rub his face. The image of Harry in that room Draco had found him crept back to him, causing him to shiver. There was no way he could hate him, not now, not after knowing what had happened to him.

‘For how long was he there?’ Draco revisited the burning question. It was essential for him to know. Had it been weeks? Months? Draco paused, a sickening twist growing in his stomach, had it been _years_? How could he ever figure out how long Harry had been there, considering Harry was in no state to remember the length of time?

“Malfoy, have you heard a word I have said?” Blaise quipped. At some point he had joined him on the step.

Draco shook his head, sighing. “I have a lot on my mind,” he said. An idea burrowed its way into his head and he turned curiously to the man at his side. “Do you know where I can find Weasley – “ he stopped himself, shaking his head. “That Granger girl. Where can I find her?”

Blaise startled for a moment before shrugging, eyeing his friend curiously. “She works for the Ministry, bet you could find her there if you needed her. Why? What do you need with her?”

“Nothing, I just have a question.”

“Owl her,” Blaise suggested.

Draco shook his head. “Rather not put this question into writing.”

After a moment, Blaise clasped his friend’s shoulder and smiled encouragingly. “Whatever you are muddling over, mate, put it aside for now. It’s past your break.”

Immediately Draco stood and swore. He was already on fine shells with Healer Downey. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he muttered, hurrying away from Blaise and back into St. Mungo’s.

“Because you looked like a right downed prat,” he called after him, frowning at Draco’s retreating figure. Blaise longed to question what he had been up to lately, what had put him in such a mood and caused him to take a week of absence from the hospital, but he held his tongue. Draco would come to him when he was ready.

The afternoon passed with an elongated dis-ease. As soon as Draco signed out at the end of his shift, instead of hovering around the mental health ward in hopes of returning the first finished text to Healer Burnie, Draco took the Floo directly to the Ministry. This had to be Draco’s least favourite place, perhaps tied with his family’s Manor. It was always busy, just as it was at St. Mungo’s but it made him more uneasy. Everybody who was anybody always glared at Draco as he walked by them but he held his head high and walked stiffly past them all. In the atrium, one of the secretaries directed him to the Fourth Floor – the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

It was not a particularly busy department, which Draco was thankful for as the fewer people who witnessed this meeting, the better. Draco came upon a small cubicle near the end of a row of desks. The muggbleborn’s curly hair was hunched over a particularly large book. “You always do have your nose buried in a book, Granger,” Draco drawled.

Granger’s attention snapped from her page to the man, her eyes wide. “Overviewing the current restriction laws for the migration of merfolk,” she responded flatly.

“No wonder you are simply brimming with excitement,” he muttered, “May I?” Draco gestured to a chair at the cubicle next to hers.

It was now that Draco was sitting within the confines of her cubicle, having drawn the chair up across from her, that she began to fully react to his presence. “What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked cautiously.

“I have a few questions…I would prefer to ask them privately. A silencing charm would be appreciated,” Draco suggested.

Granger saved her place in the book she had earlier been consumed in, directing all of her attention at Draco. “Why can’t you cast it?”

Draco laughed bitterly. “I may be a certified Healer, but the moment a Malfoy withdraws their wand in the Ministry, well,” he looked around the room where the majority of employees kept casting glances at him from the corner of their eyes. “You can assume how swimmingly that would go.”

Nodding understandingly, Granger withdrew her wand and cast a spell in the area of her cubicle. “What do you need that I can help you with? I would have never thought _you_ would ask a mudblood for help,” she spat.

“Are we still children?” he quickly returned, trying not to appear too smug as an embarrassed tint rose to her cheeks. “I have matters that need tending to of a delicate nature. Your cooperation, and privacy, on the questions would be appreciated.”

Granger merely watched Draco, eyes narrowed and her wand still grasped within her hand on her desk. Draco’s eyebrow rose as he peered down at it and back at her. The witch shrugged as if to say, ‘What else do you expect?’ “When was the last time you saw Potter?” Draco finally quipped, having to remind himself not to call him by his name.

“Harry?” Granger’s voice immediately quieted, her face dropped at the mention of him. “What does anything to do with Harry concern you?”

‘If only you bloody knew,’ he inwardly growled. “I owe the man a life debt I wish to repay and I have private matters to discuss with him. I wish no ill or harm on him, even though the debt would disallow me to do anything of that sort anyway,” Draco elucidated. “Besides, from what I hear you and the rest of those insufferable Weasleys could care less about the Golden Boy,” he added.

Granger physically reeled backwards, as if slapped by the truth in his words. She whispered an answer to his questions. “It’s been about two years, and…” she paused, the subject seemingly rattling her but Draco showed no sympathy as he impatiently waited for her to finish, “He said he needed to be away from us, from our world, that he wanted nothing to do with us. I have no idea where he lives, what he is doing, and Justin – his b-boyfriend – never has the time of day for us,” her words came spilling out and Draco had abruptly stood up, silencing her.

“Granger,” he said tightly as he turned and strode away. She was calling after him but Draco did not dare even look back.

They were supposed to be his friends and they had let this happen to Harry. He had slipped between the cracks because of their selfishness – because of some petty fighting and differences.

Draco was shaking from head-to-toe from the mention of Finch-Fletchley and the staggering thought that the abuse Harry underwent could have been going on for _two years_. Friends didn’t let this happen to other friends no matter the difference of lifestyle or opinion. The thought of him neglecting Blaise so much that this could happen, or the knowledge people had forgotten about Harry enough so that it did happen, absolutely churned his stomach.

Down in the Atrium, Draco used the visitors exit and ended up on the streets of London. The night air felt fresh on his face and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was cool, the end of summer drawing nearer, and he gripped his cloak tighter around him. He was still wearing his work uniform, the cloak that was pale coloured and made him stand out far too much in the darkness.

With a need to visit the apothecary in Knockturn Alley and the barber before it closed, Draco hurried along to catch the tube to the closest he could travel to Diagon Alley. Something about Muggle transportation calmed Draco’s nerves. The bustling about of all of the strangers, the chimes and the lights of the tube, the obscure busker music that played in the background at the station, and even those eyes that trailed after him, looking appalled at Draco’s queer clothing.

Stopping at the barber first, Draco paused only a moment before deciding to go through with it. Harry may have only made a small comment but he had let it be known that he disliked Draco’s long hair – and Draco realised he disliked it, too. He looked far too much like his father and Draco could not let himself bear anymore resemblance to him. With his hair gone with, back to a shorter style which shaped his face, he hurried to the apothecary before it closed.

Stepping inside, he wasn’t met with Darhis but his daughter, Malinda, instead. Draco ignored her greeting as he hurried about the shop, gathering what ingredients he could, before requesting the ones behind the counter that he needed from her, too. With each passing moment he spent away from his home, he had a greater urge to return to it – to return to Harry. Cally had not called on him all day which meant Harry was, most likely, doing alright. However, Draco couldn’t help but worry. It was the longest he had left him since he had discovered him.

“Interesting mixture of ingredients, Mr. Malfoy,” Malinda commented as she added up his wares.

“Are they really any more interesting than usual?” Draco returned. He must have been their most frequent, and strangest, customer.

Malinda looked up from bagging the items and smiled at him. She was a rather small girl, two years younger than Draco, with flaming red hair. “You cut your hair. She must be lucky.”

Draco raised his eyebrow. “There is no she.” He withdrew his money bag and doled out the amount of galleons, sickles, and knuts needed to pay for the ingredients – it was probably his most expensive purchase in a long while.

When he dropped them into Malinda’s hand, she was leaning forward on the counter, something glinting in her eyes. Draco cringed as he looked down at her. He didn’t like the way she was glaring at him, like a beast circling its prey. “Would you like there to be?”

Draco ignored her question as he scowled at her and snatched the bag of ingredients. “Goodnight, Malinda,” he began to start out of the shop.

The younger girl was chuckling in his wake. “Oh, I see, it’s a _he_.”

Draco slammed the door to the apothecary behind himself and apparated away from Diagon Alley on its doorstep. He had one more stop before he could return to Harry, and it was the one he was least looking forward to.

Draco approached two large French doors with trepidation. He faltered before them, wondering if it were appropriate for him to knock or not. Deciding against it, he opened one of the doors and stepped inside.

The air was stale in the grand foyer, as if it hadn’t been breathed in a long time. The lights of the home were dim and cast long shadows against the marble floor and high walls. The paintings, those that weren’t removed, were still in their frames. Draco was certain they cast judgement on him with each step he took. He walked stiffly through the home and past the winding staircase towards the main floor parlour.

The parlour was dark save the light spilling out from the fireplace along the edge of it. It was a nearly barren room now, generally unused besides for the single human occupant of the house. She was sitting in an armchair, her long legs curled up underneath herself and a blanket draped over top. A book was open on her lap, her eyes trailing the words. She did not look up at Draco’s intrusion, she merely continued reading, a frail hand reaching up to push long, greying strands of hair away from her face. Draco stood, waiting impatiently in the doorway to be greeted, knowing well it would take longer if he interrupted her.

At last, she slowly brought her book to a close and her ice blue eyes drew up to meet Draco. A genuine, warm smile that reminded Draco achingly of a home he was certain was a false memory crept up on her lips. “Welcome home, dear,” Narcissa held out her arms, expecting to be embraced.

Draco walked over, helping his mother to her feet and holding her briefly. Over the years, Narcissa had become even more affectionate towards him and it left him feeling oddly saddened. It was as if she were replacing the love she would give to Lucius by amplifying the love she gave Draco. “To what does a mother owe the pleasure of her only son seeing her after he cast her out of his home?” she quipped dryly.

Draco frowned, he knew she would be upset about that and the fact he had yet to respond to her owls. “I have been working on a very private matter, mother. I did not mean to be rude, I just have a desperate need for privacy at the moment. I promise everything is well,” he lied. “How have you been?”

Narcissa, a few inches taller than Draco, looked up at him and pressed a hand to his cheek. “You look like you’ve lost weight, dear,” she commented, ignoring the question.

“I’m fine, honestly, but I am in a hurry, mother. I have been at work all day and my next shift starts in,” Draco cast a look at the clock over the mantle and swore. He honestly did have work in another ten hours and he still had plenty of things to do at home. “I came to retrieve something I gave to you a long time ago. My wand. Do you still have it?”

A troubled look came across Narcissa’s face. It made her look older than she already did, the years of stress having greatly aged her. “Your first wand? What happened to your other one?”

Draco sighed. “Nothing, mother, I just need my original wand. Please, I do need to get home.”

Narcissa appeared reluctant to allow him to leave so soon, but she retreated from the parlour and to her rooms. She reappeared a few minutes later with a long, narrow box and placed it in Draco’s hands. “Is everything alright, son?” she asked concernedly before he turned to leave.

“No,” he replied honestly. There was only so much he could lie to his own mother. Draco forced an encouraging smile on his face. “But it will be.”

* * *

The house outside of Wiltshire was brightly lit, like a candle held against a dark night. A ripple of nervousness shuddered through Draco’s skin and he was unsure as to why. Was he afraid Harry had found trouble while he was gone? Was it his new appearance? More than likely, it was the narrow box gripped in his hand, feeling much heavier than it weighed.

Inside, the house wasn’t as silent as he expected it to be. There was a faint sound drifting in from his study, surprisingly, the sound of voices. None of them were familiar to Draco and at first he panicked. His heart thudded loudly against his ribs as he took off at a run. “Harry? Harry!” Draco called, a thousand worrisome thoughts tumbling through his head. ‘What if somebody got in?’ ‘What if he called somebody else?’ ‘Did somebody get through my wards?’

Just before he reached the study, Harry was stepping out of it into the hallway. He was blinking with wide eyes at Draco, a book in his hands as he held his fingers in between the pages, marking his spot. “Draco? Are you…” Harry trailed off as his eyes raked over Draco and landed on top of his head. Bemusement flashed across his features for a brief, almost undiscernible moment before returning to its prior stoicism. “Your hair. You cut it,” he commented.

Draco felt his cheeks grow warm. He couldn’t explain why he blushed and when he tried to shake the colour from his cheeks, he could feel it spread instead. “Yes, well, I felt I was in need of a change. I began to look too much like my old man,” he returned honestly and looked around Harry into the study for the source of the voices. The two who were speaking had changed into music. It was lively and certainly not something Draco would enjoy listening to. He realised Harry had found the small radio near the windowsill at the far end of the room. It must have been untouched since Draco moved into the house.

“How are you feeling? How was your day?” Draco questioned, starting into the room with Harry soon following after. He dumped his parcels of ingredients onto his desk and kept the other narrow box in his arms. He needed to work his way up to presenting this particular item.

Harry settled down on the sofa where it appeared he had been all day. There was a half-drunk, cold cuppa on the coffee table and a blanket where his feet landed. “Fine,” he shrugged. “My back hurts, and my left side,” he admitted.

Draco sighed. “In my last few check-ups I have been unable to find the source of pain for your side. The best I can imagine is a torn muscle as such injuries do not normally make themselves known with our Healer diagnostics. I would hope it will heal itself in the next few days. I want to apply some more salve to your back before you go to bed. Did you take any pain relievers today?” Harry shook his head and Draco nearly swore in response. Instead, he let out a strangled breath. “I told you to at least take one every six hours…will you at least take one before bed?”

“If you think I should,” said Harry. “Did you get everything you need?” he asked, hoping to change the subject away from himself.

“I did. And,” Draco looked down at the box in his hands, he had been gripping it so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Harry’s eyes followed his and he stared blankly at the box. “I went to my Manor to retrieve this. If you wish it, this can be yours. Ever since you returned it, it never quite felt right, it never truly listened to me afterwards. I found a new one, one that worked better with me, and this one I have had my mother keep all these years,” Draco explained as he finally loosened his grip on the box and slid off the lid. He offered it forward, not taking it out of the box, to Harry who simply stared down at it with an unreadable expression.

“I thought you might be more comfortable with magic if you had a wand. This wand works well for you, we already know that, and I want you to have it,” Draco said with finality.

Harry slowly drew his eyes up from the wand to Draco. “You’re giving me your wand?” he asked, his voice small and disbelieving.

The corner of Draco’s lips drew up into a tired smirk. He understood perfectly well where that disbelief came from – because Draco could hardly believe he was offering him such a thing in the first place. “Like I said, I have another I use now. You need a wand, I have an extra. If you feel uncomfortable with it, you don’t have to accept it.”

“I want it,” Harry said quickly, as if he were worried that the opportunity was being taken away from him, or perhaps he felt he would insult Draco if he declined. “B-but, can I keep it…in the box? I-I don’t want to hold it just yet,” he said slowly.

Draco closed the box and handed it over. Harry took it tentatively but once it was in his hands he seemed to sit up a little bit straighter. “Thank you, Draco. Again,” he added.

“Mm, just as long as you don’t hex me you can keep it,” Draco pestered.

Harry didn’t respond to him, instead his eyes were resting on the box now within his own loose grip. Draco was reluctant to leave him so he called Cally to bring him his dinner and quickly ate. He still had to begin brewing what he hoped would be a sufficient potion to heal Harry’s wounds. It would take time and he didn’t wish to waste any of it. Harry agreed to follow him to the basement, the box alongside him, and he settled into his usual seat as Draco began to separate and categorise his ingredients.

The silence was not its usual comforting self that night. Draco was plagued with weariness and was teetering on the edge of exhaustion – how much longer could he go to work and heal, come home and care for Harry? How much longer could he brew potions for him into the night and sacrifice any normal semblance of sleep? When would Draco find himself mentally or physically collapsing simply because he was constantly wearing himself thin with concern for Harry? Draco sighed and leaned on the table, he was just about to begin preparing some of the essential ingredients for the first step in his brewing process – which in itself was a work in progress. After a moment of collecting himself, Draco looked up from the table and across at Harry who was blankly staring back at Draco. The wand box was still clutched in his hands, lying on his lap, and his eyes never strayed from Draco. Draco smiled lazily.

‘I’ll do this as long as I have to,’ he decided, ‘Harry deserves it.’ Draco snorted out loud at himself and peeled his eyes away from Harry and back to the ingredients, retrieving one of his smaller slicing knives to begin chopping monkshood finely.

“How is…how is your mother?” Harry asked.

“Bored, I’m certain.”

Harry shuffled uneasily in his seat, wincing as the weight shifted through his left side momentarily. “You visited her and never asked?”

“I wasn’t there for long enough.”

“But…you’ve been gone all night,” Harry’s voice dropped into a low whisper.

Draco sharply peered up, his hand faltering in its ministrations nearly slicing his skin. He could have sworn he heard a distant hurt in Harry’s tone; did he think he had abandoned him all day and night? Yet, when he looked at Harry the man was simply staring into his lap. Draco could have lied, easily, but he felt as though he would be cheating in gaining Harry’s trust.

“I made a visit to…I ask you not to be cross, Harry, I swear I did not reveal any confidences of yours,” Draco assured before continuing, “I went to see Granger.”

Draco watched Harry closely and was surprised to see absolutely no change in his demeanor at her name so he continued to explain his meeting with her. He rehashed their conversation as closely as he could recall it, though the last bits of his memory were clouded with the anger that had boiled through him. “Does it help to know she has not seen you for two years? How long after you had last seen her do you think you…do you consider…” Draco frowned, he was uncharacteristically stumbling with his words.

Harry slid off his chair now and let go of the wand box for the first time, depositing it onto the stool. Draco was unable to tear his eyes from Harry, it was rare when he approached him and he did so with purpose this time. Harry stopped on the other side of the counter. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and leaned on the table, mirroring Draco, but his eyes were trained on the ingredients before him, his nose slightly wrinkled perhaps at the unorthodox smell the murtlap tentacles were emitting.

“It would have been no more than a month after I last saw Ron and Hermione that he put me in that room,” Harry answered quietly. “Do you need help with any of these ingredients?”

The same rush of anger nearly overtook Draco. It boiled under his skin and made all of his hairs stand on end, but when he looked across to see Harry, unshaken nor disturbed by this new deductive knowledge that he had been in that room for nearly two years, he found the strength to swallow it.

Draco would deal with that Fletchley devil a different day – be it legally or with a string of Unforgiveables. But today, tomorrow, and forever long Harry needed it, Draco would concentrate on healing him.  

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

_“Does this hurt?” Draco heard himself asking. His fingertips were pressing into the bare back of his patient. Scars ricocheted around the healed skin as Draco ran his fingers over them._

_“Mm, no. It feels nice,” came the response. Harry, lying in his briefs on the guest room in Draco’s home on his stomach, turned his head to the side. He peered up through the corner of his eyes and smiled at Draco. Draco’s breath caught in his throat. He was actually smiling for once. It was a beautiful sight to see that sent shivers of relief, of pride, and of…Draco shook his head._

_With a gentle motion, he ran his fingers up and down Harry’s spine multiple times. Draco savoured the feeling of the curvatures of his back. He found himself wanting to memorise every crevice in Harry’s skin and every marking. He wanted to take the scars away and replace them with his lips. Without thinking, Draco’s fingers led him up into Harry’s hair. It was thick and unruly but felt soft entwined in his hand._

_Another humming sound of elation was elicited from Harry. Draco had been sitting on the edge of the bed but now he found himself staring directly down at Harry from overhead. When had he moved to be on top of him? Draco was unsure but that noise Harry had made had fueled his desire to continue his exploration. “D-does this hurt?” Draco stuttered, running his hands through his hair and then down his neck._

_“Let me turn over,” Harry instructed. Draco eased up on the man beneath himself, reluctantly so as his hands had to leave his skin. Maneuvering himself so that he was now facing Draco, Harry smiled warmly once again. Draco thought that smile and those intense, emerald eyes would be the death of him. Had he stopped breathing? Draco was unsure but it felt as though he had._

_Hands were suddenly on Draco. First they were at his waist and then they found their way under the hem of his shirt and to the skin of his belly. Draco shuddered. “Harry, I-“_

_“Come here,” Harry interrupted softly. When Draco sat unmoving, Harry spoke again but this time his smile was turning into a smirk. “_ Please _come here, Draco?”_

_Draco’s head was screaming at him. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew nothing good could come of it. But suddenly his face was hovering above Harry’s and their lips were nearly touching._

“Master Draco, sirs?”

Draco awoke abruptly, shooting upright in his bed. He looked wildly around until his eyes landed on Cally who was hovering in the doorway, her hands wrung around the frame. “Master Draco, sirs, Cally is not wishing to wake Master Draco up but Cally is told to wake Master Draco whenever his guest is awake.”

Sighing, Draco let his head hit the pillow again. “Thank you, Cally,” he grumbled, excusing his House Elf. “What the bloody fuck was that all about?” he cursed the moment he was alone again.

* * *

Days blended together with nights. Draco was beginning to realise perhaps he was overwhelming himself with the task of caring for Harry. Maybe he truly wasn’t enough for this particular patient. Between work, avoiding his mother and Blaise’s questioning on his lack of presence as of late, developing and brewing an antidote for Harry’s wounds, and continuing the minimal physical care he could for him, Draco saw no end in sight.

It seemed as though Harry had reached a plateau in his healing. He had finally taken the wand out of its box on his third day of having possession of it, however, he neither drew nor used it. Instead, it nestled safely in his trouser pocket at all times. Harry would start simple conversations with Draco, mainly regarding the potion or his shift at work, or at times his relationship with Blaise – which seemed to strike him as an oddly interesting subject matter – but otherwise he remained quiet. Minute semblances of the Harry Draco once knew would show themselves before quickly being hidden away and he had yet to smile, to grin, to smirk, or to offer Draco any form of emotion other than the rare, quick flicker of anger or depression.

Draco had thoroughly noted and read all of the mental health texts Healer Burnie had given him and even made a secondary meeting with her. He described to her that his patient had reached a point where he no longer seemed to be improving, where he seemed comfortable and did not seem concerned with progression. Holly had assured Draco that it was active social integration and therapy which such a patient in his condition would need, but Draco knew that wasn’t an option – not for Harry. Any mention of introducing a new person to his routine made him close up and revert back to a state where he refused to even look at Draco.

It was slowly becoming frustrating for the Healer. He was at a loss of where to go from there, other than healing him physically, what could he really, truly do to heal him mentally? Or was it something, as many of the texts described, that could only be assisted and had to come from within the patient himself? How could he foster this want to mentally improve in Harry?

On Sunday, Draco’s first day off from returning to work as Healer Downey had been unimpressed with his impromptu leave of absence and shoveled extra shifts upon him, he spent most of his time holed up in the basement. Draco was certain this antidote would be ready within the week and he couldn’t wait to finish his physical healing of Harry. The man who had come to him thin, worn, and tattered was now fuller, his skin warmer, his limbs heavier. Draco wondered if he should present Harry with the opportunity, once his physical wounds had healed, to leave his house, to go to St. Mungo’s or perhaps a friend…did Harry have those aside from the Weasleys and Granger?

With a promise of sending a letter to his mother, Draco settled down in the early afternoon at the desk in his study, quickly scrawling out how he was faring – and lying necessarily. Harry was, as usual, shadowing him wherever he went when he was home. Draco often considered this was due to him being alone throughout the day, perhaps he truly did need social interaction.

From the window of the study, Harry was peering out onto the side of Draco’s yard. The sun was nearly at its height for the day and it gleamed in through the pane. Draco finished his letter and pushed up from his desk, resolved to send it later, his mother could wait. Coming up behind Draco, Harry  commented softly as he too looked out at the seldom used yard. “It is a nice day, probably one of the last warm ones. We could go outside,” Draco suggested once more. Days ago when he had brought it up, Harry had let the idea settled in his thoughts. Maybe the fresh air, the change in setting but still within a safe place, could dig Harry out of his stalemate of mental recovery.

Harry bowed his head and took a shuddering breath. Draco urged to close the distance, to place his hand on Harry’s shoulder as a comforting prompt, but he restrained himself. He was still unsure what his unnecessary touch would do to Harry – and what it would do to himself. Every time he interacted with Harry, Draco was left feeling drained, confused, and conflicted. “Okay,” Harry said at last.

Draco started. “Sorry?”

Turning on his heel, Harry faced Draco with a furrowed brow. He seemed unconcerned with their physical closeness as Draco had come to stand so near to him. Draco wondered if Harry would allow himself to be this close to others, or was it just himself? ‘Why does that even matter to me?’ Draco queried.

“I would like to go outside,” Harry reiterated.

“I just have to go check on the potion,” Draco said, forcing himself to turn from Harry. “There are a few extra pairs of shoes in my bedroom closet. Feel free to grab one of them and I will meet you in the kitchen.”

Trying to pace himself, Draco excused himself to the basement. It was difficult not to run from Harry because if he didn’t run, Draco was fearful he would run _towards_ him. ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ he swore to himself. His hands were shaking as he clasped onto the cauldron’s stirring stick and began to turn it. Draco felt like an emotional mess and he couldn’t fully grasp why. All he knew was that this feeling, his current life, all rotated around the man upstairs…and it didn’t even bother him.

When he returned to the kitchen, Harry was ready and waiting, staring determinedly out onto the backyard. Draco looked down at his own black dress shoes and sniggered. “You look like a boggart dressed you,” he teased. Harry shot a half-hearted glare his way.

“They were the largest pair. For somebody so tall, you have small feet, Malfoy.” The simple use of his last name in such a playful manner startled Draco.

“Sod off,” he returned, but without malice in his words. Maybe Harry _was_ still improving. With that quick response, he even remotely resembled the boy Draco knew before. There was hope that Harry Potter was buried in that man somewhere. Draco resolved to find him.

Opening up the back door, Draco grimaced as he stepped into the too bright sunlight and unkempt lawn. Taking a few steps forward, he realised he was not being followed. Back in the doorway, Harry was squinting against the light and chewing his lower lip. Before he could think of his actions, Draco was extending his hand forward, palm upwards towards his patient. Harry hesitated before reaching forward, his own hand falling into Draco’s. It felt warm and right in Draco’s cold hand. He curled his fingers gently about Harry’s palm and led him into the yard.

At first, Harry kept his head down and his attention trained on his feet as if he were learning how to walk. In a way, he was. Draco led him to the far corner of his property. There was a small row of trees along his fence and a shed which housed his few prized brooms. Draco sat on the grass, pulling Harry down beside him.

“You have a large yard,” Harry commented after a moment. He was more relaxed in the shade, his hand unmoving from Draco’s.

“I only use it for flying, when I have the chance to. When your back is healed, you are welcome to fly out here. It is warded along with the house.”

“Would you fly with me?”

“If you wish it.”

Harry shifted on the grass and as he did he slowly slipped his fingers in between Draco’s and for a moment, he squeezed before going lax. “I would like that,” he whispered.

It was strange. Draco’s mind was panicking. He was no longer leading a timid broken man outside. Draco was sitting cross-legged in the grass and holding Harry’s hand – neither were activities he did and most certainly not with a patient. Despite his panic, Draco couldn’t bring himself to move. Their hands loosely clasped, they sat in the shade against the subtle, late summer’s breeze.

“He thought I was going to leave him,” Harry said suddenly.

At the subject change, Draco’s stomach lurched. His grip on Harry instinctively tightened as he inhaled sharply.

“Maybe because I was having difficulties with Ron and Hermione, or the press after they found out I had different preferences. I wanted to leave everything, especially the Wizarding World. Just for a while. I told him I wasn’t leaving him, that I just needed time away. My cousin Dudley invited me to stay with him for a few weeks where he had moved up north. I accepted the invitation,” Harry spoke plainly, his eyes searching the environment around him, avoiding looking towards Draco.

“Growing up, I never got on with my cousin, but he runs a new branch of my uncle’s company and being somewhat away from his father seemed to have done him some good. He had met a woman, too, and last I knew they were engaged. He certainly wasn’t my favourite person, but…it wasn’t a bad thing to see him. He had an extra room and I liked the town he lived in…it was quiet, small, and I never saw anybody I knew. Dudley let me keep to myself. I think he knew I needed it and he never asked why. It was by far the nicest thing my cousin has ever done for me.” Harry paused and shifted on the grass again, careful not to withdraw his hand from Draco’s.

For early September, it was rather hot outside but even still the bead of sweat that fell down the side of Draco’s face was not from the heat, but rather from his anticipation.

“After a few weeks, I realised how much more comfortable I was being in the Muggle world. At least until I could fix what I had broken in my life; the Weasleys, what the Daily Prophet was saying about me, the Ministry…Dudley offered me an entry position at his firm and I had accepted it. When I returned home, to pack my things and to explain to him that I just needed more time,” Harry screwed up his face, no longer referring to Dudley, “That I would eventually come back…” Harry sighed. With his free hand he was feeling the grass, running his palm along the blades. “I think he must have already known I was temporarily leaving him. He didn’t want that to happen. He was ready for me when I came home. He was waiting.”

Harry’s voice cracked ever so slightly and Draco tightened his grip on his fingers. “How could somebody with so little talent as Flet- _him_ get the best of you?” Draco asked at last. It was the largest part of the situation in its entirety he didn’t understand. This was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and yet a simple wizard had him essentially imprisoned?

“My first mistake was leaving my wand behind. My cousin was always uneasy around magic and I thought it unkind to bring my wand to his home. When I returned, he had already shattered it and burnt it. We fought and when I said I was leaving h-he sort of lost it. He cast imperio on me-“

“But that doesn’t work on you, we all know that,” Draco interjected. He was enraptured with Harry’s retelling, not just for the fact that he was sharing what had happened to him, but also because Draco’s questions could finally be answered. “Back in Fourth Year we saw you throw off that curse from Moody. If you could do it then you certainly could do it at twenty-two.”

Harry frowned. “I could and I did. That only made him angrier. I-I don’t know why he was so desperate...I don’t know what he wanted from me or why he wanted to – to keep me so badly but…he was so determined, Draco,” he was whispering now, his voice was shaking slightly. Another urge surged through Draco to hold him, to wrap his arms around Harry and hold him, to tell him it was okay to share this, that the memory of it couldn’t harm him.

“When imperio didn’t work, he used the Cruciatus instead. Again. And again. I had no way to defend myself. I didn’t have my wand and the wandless protego I could manage to cast wasn’t strong enough to deflect an unforgiveable. I can’t remember how many times he hit me with that curse, but eventually I blacked out and…” Harry choked.

Impatiently, Draco waited for him to continue but after a few minutes it was clear he was either finding the words or refusing to do so. “Harry, you know you’re safe here. He can’t get to you again, I will never let him,” Draco reassured.

Turning his head slightly towards Draco but not looking directly at him, Harry inclined his head. “I woke up in that room. F-for days I screamed. I cried. I tried to reason with him. I tried so goddamn hard to use wandless magic but I was so exhausted, I hurt all over from the cruciatus curse and it wouldn’t fucking work. Years of getting into trouble for accidental magic and nothing fucking worked and no accidental magic happened when I fucking needed it most,” his tone had grown angry and he was clenching his hand in Draco’s now as well as the blades of grass, tearing them from their roots. “He never gave me time to recover enough to use any semblance of energy. He fucking never gave me a chance.”

Harry was looking fully at Draco now, his eyes shining with the threat of tears which remained unfallen. Draco was shaking and he tried to control it but he couldn’t stop himself. He was unsure if it was anger, horror, or pity which had him rattled or perhaps the combination of the three but he swallowed all of the information Harry gave him. If he was offering up what had happened, Draco found it as the perfect opportunity to ask more necessary questions.

“What happened, Harry? Tell me everything,” Draco urged softly.

The raven-haired man simply turned away and back out towards the landscape, sniffing as he did. “If I tell you, will you still be here?”

Draco blinked confusedly. “Where would I go? I still have to heal you, Harry. My home is still free for you to live in for as long as you need it,” he guaranteed.

“I-I just don’t think I could handle you not being here right now. After you know…I just-“

“I’m here, Harry,” Draco ran his thumb over Harry’s skin where they were still conjoined. It drew the other man’s attention to their hands and he saw a flicker of an indiscernible emotion cross Harry’s face before he began to speak again.

“I think I can tell you everything, if we stay here like this.”

“Tell me, Harry,” Draco repeated, trying not to let his desperation sound in his voice. But he was desperate. He not only wanted to know but at this point he felt as though he needed to know. If he did, perhaps they could continue from there. Maybe Healer Burnie would have a more resolute healing plan for Harry. Maybe Draco would be able to think straight and stop having badgering, confusing thoughts running through his head at all hours of the night.

“Those first few weeks in that room were the worst ones in my life…”

* * *

“Bloody hell!”

Draco’s guttural scream echoed in his bedroom. He fell backwards onto his bed, exhausted, his hands rubbing his sweating face. He was drenched; exhausted, his heart hammering and his chest heaving. Having spent hours silently listening to Harry, with very little interjection, Draco had to supress the vile feeling that continued to grow under his skin.

Having to hear the atrocities Harry had to live through. Hearing the tremble in his voice, the fear that vibrated his body which was only stilled by the gentle caresses from Draco’s thumb onto his hand…all of it brought Draco to the point of exhaustion and an anger so strong, he was surprised he had remained in control of himself the rest of the day.

Harry needed Draco more than Draco needed to soothe himself.

When Harry was finally finished his gruelling retelling of his experience over the last two years, they sat quietly with one another. Harry sounded on the verge of tears but none were ever truly shed. Once enough time had passed, they spent the rest of the day in silence. Eating, adding components and working on the potion together, and reading in the study. They both acted as though Harry hadn’t spoken of his memories at all. Draco was thankful for this because he was unsure how much more he could have heard before he fell apart.

Why Harry’s experiences so greatly affected him was beyond Draco. He doubted another stranger going through the same ordeal could have him half as perturbed. As soon as Harry had gone to bed that night, Draco had wasted no time in silencing his room and breaking everything he could. He screamed, he yelled, and he fought with the inanimate objects in his room until his face was hot with sweat and tears. They weren’t even his memories and yet he could see them flashing in his head as if they were his own.

Looking around from between his hands, Draco sighed at the havoc he had wreaked on his own quarters. Retrieving his wand from his pocket, he repaired everything he could with a couple quick reparos. Between the dream this morning and the proceedings of the day, Draco was becoming increasingly confused. He had never been good at deciphering emotions, however, he had always excelled at suppressing them as his father had ensured. His relationship with Harry was slowly blurring between the lines of patient and Healer, friends, and…something else.

Draco could at least understand that he was beginning to develop feelings for Harry but _why_? Due to being so invested in his recovery? It was difficult for Draco to grasp that he was beginning to like this man despite his broken state, when most aspects of him were buried beneath the surface and barely ebbed out. But when they did, when he made particular comments that had Draco smirking, or when he looked at him with unwavering determination, Draco could feel a pull stronger than he ever had felt with another man before.

“Maybe I’m going stir crazy,” he considered. He was unsure of what seemed like a more plausible possibility; that or the former idea that perhaps, despite reservations and his current state, he had developed some sort of swelling feelings for the other man resting in his home.

The next evening after Draco had completed his shift, he found himself sitting in Healer Burnie’s office rather begrudgingly. He didn’t want to ask more of her help but he needed it. He could read all the theory in the world on mental healing but none of it made any sense to him. Harry seemed to be improving, but there must have been a lot of damage done. Draco knew it took him a long time before he returned to a functioning mental state after Azkaban and that had only been a year. ‘Did I ever return to completely functioning?’ Draco queried with himself as he waited for Holly to join him. Azkaban had certainly changed him, but perhaps it had been for the better. He was determined to make something of himself ever since then, to prove that he hadn’t just been a pawn in his father’s and the Dark Lord’s game, that he had been a person that whole time, too.

“Healer Malfoy, am I seeing you here on business or personal matters?” Holly inquired as she entered the room, softly closing the door behind herself.

Draco forced a dim smile as she sat across from him. “Personal.”

Holly nodded and flicked her wand before settling at her desk, summoning what must be her portfolio on Draco. The blond eyed the folder of parchment and papers skeptically, scoffing as he saw his family name written across it. Holly was treating him like any other patient and, if Draco were being honest, it pissed him off.

“Go on then,” she urged gently.

Elucidating Harry’s mental, social, and physical developments had been simple enough. The difficult part of Draco’s meeting with Holly came when he had to retell Harry’s story. It left him feeling drained and that same anger from yesterday began to build and surface. By the end, Draco was clenching the side of his chair so tightly he was surprised it hadn’t splintered. Even his breathing had become tight and ragged, his pulse rushing loudly in his ears.

Healer Burnie, however, seemed completely unaffected by everything he said. She merely allowed her quill to take notes as she listened, never once interjected. “Draco, I have to once again implore you bring your patient-“

“He is not my patient,” he returned. Despite thinking of Harry as such, he knew he had to make it clear Harry was not his patient for he was running the risk of disobeying his contract with the hospital as a Healer.

Holly pursed her lips and conceded. “Your friend should be seen by our Healers here, Draco. I need to remind you this is what I feel is the most effective route of healing for him. However, I see that you remain steadfast in the thought that his care lays best within your own hands. For what it is worth, it sounds as though you are offering superb healing for him as it is. Victims of abuse this extensive take a long time, often years, to return to what one would preconceive as ‘normal’. And to open up to another individual, well, I must say it usually takes much longer than a little over a week,” she complimented.

“But what do I do for him from here? I can heal his physical injuries, I _will_ heal all his injuries. But do I bring him outside, into society, do I let him see other people? Will that be effective for him?” Draco asked. “And no, bringing him here for any of that is not an option.”

“Each individual is different, Draco. With most mental health cases, communication is key. Since your _friend_ is no longer unresponsive, it appears he can make these decisions on his own. I would offer him these opportunities frequently as you have already explained yourself that within a few days he became accustomed to the thought of going outside.”

Draco frowned. This didn’t help him much. Every practice was used by means of scaffolding to the individual’s needs – Holly couldn’t do that when she didn’t know or meet Harry. Draco wondered if he would feel comfortable enough to meet her but quickly shook the idea from his head; there was no way even somebody as professional as Holly would be able to keep Harry’s identity a secret.

“How about yourself, Draco? How are you feeling amongst all of this?”

‘Oh no, that won’t work with me,’ he growled inwardly. “Sorry, Healer Burnie. I really only had the few questions and your time is always greatly appreciated. Just have your secretary owl me for payment once again,” Draco stood up, reaching his hand forward which was not taken by Holly who merely stared at it.

“You will be charged for the hour, Draco, you may as well use it.”

Draco shrugged as he turned towards the door. “Have a good evening, Healer Burnie.” As he started out of the ward, Draco was glad he had made it out of there without further impediments. However, he was not as lucky as he made his way towards the employee’s exit.

“Malfoy, you slimy bastard!”

“Bollocks,” Draco swore beneath his breath, turning on his heel to shoot a glare at Blaise. “I haven’t the time for this, Blaise, I need to-“

“What? What is it you need to go do?” Blaise returned, ignoring the way his friend’s heated gaze narrowed. He slung his arm around Draco’s shoulder and pulled him away from the employee’s floo entrance and exit. “C’mon, mate, you’ve been avoiding me for nearly two weeks! You owe me this.”

“Owe you what, exactly?” Draco drawled.

“A pint!”

Despite his groaning and multiple attempts at freeing himself from Blaise’s grip, it was a mere twenty minutes later that Draco found himself at a small table in the corner of the dreadful Leaky Cauldron. Draco despised the place along with the majority of its inhabitants. He wrapped his work robes closer to himself, unwilling to tarnish them more than need be, as he scowled into his pint of Firewhiskey.

“What in Merlin’s name has been wrong with you lately?”

Sighing, Draco took a sip of the liquid and winced as it burned down his throat. He also disliked the vile taste of the liquor. “I told you, I am tied within a particular situation I have no right to speak upon.”

“Still? Draco, whatever trouble you’ve found certainly can’t be good. You look like a bloody wreck. That week off did you more harm than good, it looks,” he commented seriously.

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he supplied.

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you look like this before. Do you want to know when?”

“Shove off, Zabini-“

“Sixth year. You even looked better coming out of goddamn Azkaban,” Blaise hissed. Leaning forward on the table, the olive-skinned man imposed on Draco’s space and looked at him with unwavering eyes. Draco knew he wasn’t going to give in this time, not as he had before in his study the prior week. “Tell me, Draco. Whatever it is, it’s too much for you to carry on your own.”

Draco swore to himself. What if he told Blaise? He knew, of all others including his mother, that Blaise was the man Draco trusted most. He had always kept his secrets. Could he keep this one, too? It wasn’t even a matter of trust in the concern of Blaise. Draco didn’t want to misuse Harry’s trust. He couldn’t betray him and his own secrets like that. Draco took a look around him. Several eyes concentrated on them and their interaction. If he was going to tell him at all, he certainly couldn’t tell him there or at his house – there was no telling which portraits of Blaise’s would talk, or his parents if they overheard.

“Fine, but not now. Go home and wait for my firecall,” Draco instructed, abandoning his barely touched pint.

Blaise raised his eyebrows at his friend. “Aye, aye,” he mocked, tipping his own pint back until he finished it. By the time the empty glass hit the table, Draco was gone.

Blaise sighed and rummaged through his work robe; they were a dark navy blue with a signet that represented his position as a security personnel at the hospital. “What kind of trouble has found you, Draco?”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know! Bad author! I apologise for this being a day late - it is midterm week so I am having a bit of a hectic schedule! I hope you can forgive me and have enjoyed this little installation to the story! I do promise things will begin to progress with our boys. Continue reading and enjoying! ^_^


	7. Chapter Seven

“Draco? What took you so long?” Harry asked immediately upon Draco’s arrival home. He met him in the upstairs corridor, having exited from the study.

“Sorry,” Draco apologised, “I was kept late on my shift and…” he sighed, “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“A favour?” Harry returned, perplexed by the thought that Draco could have a favour to ask of him and not vice versa.

Draco waited until they were both seated on the Chesterfield and Draco turned seriously towards Harry. “I would never betray the confidences you have shared with me,” he began seriously. “However, it is becoming increasingly difficult to ward off questions from Blaise. I am not close enough with any of my other friends nor my mother to have them overly concerned. Blaise, however, is becoming a nuisance.”

Harry frowned and was concentrated on his hands in his lap. “Do you trust Blaise?” he asked, his voice below a whisper.

“Completely,” Draco assured, “For whatever reason, that bastard is as trustworthy as they come – at least to me.”

“I trust you,” Harry said firmly, but as he spoke his hands were shaking. Draco sighed. He didn’t want this, to place undue stress on Harry. “Will you, I-I don’t know if I want to…do I have to talk with him?”

“Not if you don’t want to. He merely wants answers to his questions and I can give him all of that. Interacting with him in any way whatsoever is entirely up to you. Harry, you have to understand, I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it were necessary. It is better for us if Blaise knows. The fuss that man can create could be overwhelming and bring more attention to myself than I feel comfortable with. More attention drawn to me, unfortunately, means more attention drawn to our situation,” he explained.

Harry was nodding slowly. “I-I understand,” he said, still shaking.

Draco, despite his better judgement, leaned over and brushed Harry’s hand with his fingertips. He continued to do so, almost in a petting manner. Harry’s shaking stilled after a moment and he visibly relaxed in his touch. “I’ll be here the entire time and any moment you want him to leave just tell me, okay?”

“Like I said,” Harry repeated, turning towards Draco. “I trust you.”

It was Draco’s turn to shiver. How could somebody trust him so much? How could Harry trust him? Had he completely forgotten who he had been, what he had done and been a part of? ‘To Harry, those things don’t matter,’ Draco reminded himself. As soon the war had ended, Harry did not hesitate to protect Draco and his mother during the Death Eater trials.

“I’m going to adjust the wards and then firecall Blaise to meet me in the basement. We may be there awhile. If you need me, do not hesitate to call for me,” Draco reminded Harry. He wondered how uncomfortable this extra presence would make Harry. Would Blaise be too much for him to handle?

Draco left Harry with a few more reassuring words before contacting his friend and going to his basement, checking on the potion for a moment before he heard Blaise join him with a resounding crack. “Is that...bloody hell, is that what I think it is?” Blaise asked as he came to stand on the other side of Draco’s table where he had laid out the next ingredient for his potion.

Both men looked down at the horn two inches long and nearly as wide. “It’s only a fourth of its actual size. It was as much as I could acquire.”

“What do you need an Erumpent horn for? You must have paid a heavy galleon for it!” Blaise said as he drew up the spare stool, which was usually Harry’s seat, and sat before Draco.

“Start shaving the sides of the horn,” Draco ordered, tossing Blaise the necessary instruments. “Might as well make yourself useful as I talk.”

An hour passed and the basement finally fell to silence. Draco had given Blaise the information he needed, but kept some of Harry’s secrets to himself. Blaise had no need to know the extent of abuse he had experienced over the past two years. That information could be Harry and Draco’s burden alone – at least for now.

Draco finished stirring the potion and frowned as he looked inside of it. “Three more days,” he said aloud. “I hope it will be ready in three more days. Then Harry can at least be physically healed. You know, I even read about a potion that can heal curse scars.”

“Why do you care?” Blaise asked, not accusingly, but more out of curiosity. “I can understand rescuing Potter, who wouldn’t? But to take care of him, to take him on as a patient? To do everything you’ve been doing for him? Draco, this is insane. You should turn him over to the healers at St. Mungo’s.”

Draco turned on his friend with a harsh glare. “He doesn’t need the healers at St. Mungo’s; he needs me!” he snapped.

“Merlin, do you hear yourself? Caring about his scars? I got the taking him out of that hellhole part, I can fathom why you’re insane enough to keep healing him here, but to go so far as to care about his scars? That goes beyond simple healing, Draco. That can’t be what this is all about.”

“But it is,” Draco countered. “Nobody deserves to have gone through what he has and nobody deserves the scars that will be left from it. I want to do whatever I can for him, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Blaise simply responded, offering no explanation.

“Why? Why is it so difficult for you to comprehend that?”

“Because it’s you and this is Harry Potter!”

Draco slammed his fists down on the table causing Blaise to startle. “Yes, and if you don’t remember I owe him my _life_.”

Blaise leaned forward on the table, unafraid of Draco’s defensive anger. “I can guarantee that debt was paid off when you took him from that flat. This is more than that and you know it. Potter needs more healers than just you and asides from being healed he bloody well needs to report this arsehole to the aurors!”

“A trial isn’t good enough for that bastard,” Draco growled.

“Oh, and do you plan to take care of him yourself, too?”

“If I need to.”

“Is Potter really fucking worth going to Azkaban again?”

Draco looked up at Blaise, his icy blue eyes glinting with dangerous determination. “What if he was?”

Blaise hadn’t been expecting that response and he leaned back on the stool, crossing his arms as he did. “Damn, Malfoy, you’re really invested in him.”

Draco shrugged and finally eased off the table. As he did he caught the sight of movement from the corner of his eye. “Harry?” he called, his demeanor automatically altering, his tone softening. Blaise wheeled around on his stool to see the third man standing midway down the stairs.

“There was shouting,” Harry commented, his eyes darting quickly between Draco and Blaise before they lowered to his own feet. Even from the distance, Draco knew he was shaking even though he couldn’t see it.

Abandoning the potion and his friend, Draco went towards the stairs to meet Harry. “It is alright, Blaise and I had a disagreement,” he explained. “Let’s go to the study. Do you mind if Blaise joins us for a while?”

Harry shrugged and avoided Draco’s gaze as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Harry turned on his heel and started back up the stairs. Blaise quickly caught up to Draco, only a few paces behind Harry. He leaned in towards his friend and whispered, “Merlin, you weren’t lying about any of it, were you?” Draco shook his head and by the time they reached the study, Blaise still had a flabbergasted look across his face.

Cally served the three of them tea and biscuits. Blaise sat in what was usually Draco’s armchair and the other two shared the Chesterfield. Harry, however, curled up in the edge of it as far from Blaise as possible. He had his legs drawn up underneath himself. Draco wanted to reach across the distance and still the man’s shaking but he was unaware if that would be appreciated or if Harry would recoil from it. It had worked before but he wondered if it would differ in the company of others.

“So, er, Potte-“

“Harry,” Draco quickly corrected.

Blaise considered his friend for a moment before conceding. “Harry, you must be brave, living with this prat,” he grinned half-heartedly. It was difficult not to be surprised and overcome with the way Harry looked. He was in much better condition than when Draco had first found him, but he still didn’t appear like the Harry Potter most people would remember. He still looked gaunt, haunted, and thinner than usual.

“I-I’m thankful,” said Harry.

Blaise raised his eyebrows so far they nearly disappeared behind his fringe as he turned to Draco. “Well, I have to say all of this is unexpected.”

“It is, for all of us if I may say so myself,” Draco agreed. Despite not much time having passed, he was getting used to the idea of caring for Harry in the privacy of his own home – what was new and alarming to him were the dreams and the unexplained emotions that were beginning to surface from within himself regarding the man. “And can we know with confidence that you will hold your tongue on everything regarding Harry?”

“On Salazar himself,” Blaise mockingly raised his hand but at the dire look from not only Draco but Harry as well he amended himself. “Of course, who would believe me anyway? If I told anybody they would believe I’d gone nutters and send me to that gorgeous Healer up on the Sixth Floor.”

“Holly?”

Blaise smirked and leaned forward in the armchair. “You’re on a first name basis, ‘eh? I heard a rumour from Sabrina that you’ve been making some elongated trips up to see her.”

Draco sneered at his friend and was about to retort when Harry spoke up, his voice small and bearing a semblance of hurt. “Is that why y-you’ve been so late coming home?”

All eyes turned on Draco, Blaise was half-smiling and Harry appeared hollow. It did not escape Draco that Harry sounded hurt and that he also called this house his home. “Yes and no. I have only seen her a few times and it is not what Blaise is implying,” Draco assured him. “It is…somewhat work related.”

Blaise was looking between Harry and Draco who seemed to be holding one another’s gaze before he spoke up. “To be honest I didn’t think much on it. I know she’s been wanting to collect you as her prized Death Eater patient and you don’t even swing for that team, do you Malfoy? Even for a pretty thing like Holly,” he teased.

Harry sharply inhaled and turned away from Draco but before he could cover his face with his hair, Draco noted the crimson creeping up his neck. “Holly aside,” Draco cleared his throat, “If everybody else is hungry I can have Cally prepare us some dinner. I need to eat before I return to the potion.”

“I stirred it twice today,” Harry piped up, though he still refused to turn and face Draco or Blaise anymore. Instead, he stared straight into the mantle place.

“Thank you, Harry, though it doesn’t need much attention. Many antidotes can be brewed quickly, but ones such as these take time to settle between adding ingredients.”

“You let Pot-“ Blaise stopped himself at Draco’s glare, “Er, you let Harry near your potion? If I can remember school at all, that’s not the brightest idea, Draco.”

Draco grinned. “Yes, well, I trust him not to blow it up.”

If Harry’s shoulders could tense anymore, they would have at Draco’s statement.

The evening passed relatively well with a few minute hiccups. Draco entertained his friend and Harry throughout dinner and they spoke lightly of work, of politics (a new election was scheduled for the Ministry come that Spring), and even of the latest gossip amongst the other Slytherins and friends from work Blaise kept. Draco would join the small group sometimes for occasions, but he was known to keep relatively to himself other than Blaise’s company. Draco preferred it that way and he was certain everybody else would agree.

When Blaise was taking his leave, Harry excused himself from the study, perhaps because he could tell Draco was itching for a moment of privacy with his friend.

“I take it we do not need a Wizard’s Oath or an Unbreakable Vow to keep your mouth shut?” Draco drawled.

“Like I said, who would believe me? Besides, you’re my best mate, Draco,” Blaise reminded him earnestly. “I just can’t bloody believe it all. Finch-Fletchley did all of this to Potter? Merlin, I can’t believe it even when I’ve seen him with my own eyes,” he said, his voice dropping.

“That reminds me, now that you know…I have a favour to ask you,” Draco said seriously, leaning in closer to his friend.

From beyond the doorway, Harry stood in the corridor with his back pressed against the wall. He was breathing raggedly, his eyes closed and turned towards the ceiling. He could hear the murmur of voices and make the outline of their words. That man’s name sent an unwarranted shiver throughout his body. Once the feeling left him, he idly wondered how long it would be until he felt like himself again instead of this fearful, hollow person that felt dependent on Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Just as he had finished collecting himself, Draco appeared in the corridor before him. “Harry, are you alright?” he asked concernedly.

Harry slowly peeled his eyes open and was met with Draco looming closely over him. “I’m fine. Blaise seems…nice.”

Draco laughed, “I don’t know if nice is the word, but we can go with that. Was it honestly okay to be around him? I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

“It was fine,” he reiterated. “I’m just tired,” Harry half-lied.

“Of course. Would you like me to apply some more salve before bed? Do you need any pain relievers or a Dreamless Sleep?”

Harry shook his head. “No thank you.” He pushed himself off of the wall and started towards his room but Draco was close behind.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything? I really ought to reapply the salve as I haven’t since before I left this morning-“

“Goodnight, Draco,” Harry said as he reached his door and once inside he slowly closed it, careful not to let his face be seen in case any of what he was feeling could be noticed on his features.

As Draco was met with a closed door, he blinked a few times before frowning. He wanted to growl at the door. As a Healer, he knew he should have forced Harry to let him reapply the salve. Draco had been doing thorough check-ups as well twice a day and Harry knew that as well as himself. Harry had appeared fine during Blaise’s visit, despite being uncomfortable and shaken at parts, Harry held together relatively well and Draco was proud of him. Perhaps he could handle more social interaction but now, as Draco stared at the wood of the guest bedroom door, he queried if he had done something wrong by bringing Blaise there.

Letting the slight frustration wash over him, Draco let out a heavy breath as he pressed his hand on the door. “You know where to find me if you need me,” he called to the man on the other side, waiting to hear a response he knew he wouldn’t receive. Draco turned away from the door and started towards the basement.

* * *

_Pain rattled Draco’s bones. His skin crawled with it. He wanted to shout, to scream until he could no longer make a noise, but he merely growled within his chest. He bit his lip so hard he could taste the blood in his mouth. As the pain somewhat subsided, Draco’s eyes snapped open. He looked around himself._

_He had been here before. Too many times._

_“Draco? Draco! Darling! What’s happened? Are you alright?” his frantic mother’s voice came to him but he couldn’t see her. He didn’t need to in order to know she was behind him, running to him, but she would never reach him. She never did._

_“Quiet, Narcissa, I am busy teaching our son a lesson,” hissed the man towering over Draco._

_Craning his neck upwards, Draco looked at his father with a mixture of hatred, disgust, and fear. There was nothing he could do against him; he was a far more talented wizard than Draco and he had caught him by surprise once again. And Draco didn’t even have his wand any longer. “You lied! You knew that was Harry Potter and you lied! We could have saved our family, Draco! Do we mean so little to you?” Lucius wasn’t yelling, no, his voice was low and dangerous and it cut Draco as he spat his words at him._

_“I-I couldn’t be sure-“_

_“Crucio!”_

_The blinding pain met him like an old friend and Draco clenched his jaw and his fists. He wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of breaking him. When the curse lifted, though it left its lingering effect, Draco slowly brought himself up from his knees. He met his father and then surpassed him in height. Draco didn’t flinch as the man’s borrowed wand pressed into his throat. Lucius could curse Draco all he wanted but he wouldn’t do irreparable physical harm to him – he was his only heir and chance at redemption._

_“I did what I had to, father.”_

_Lucius’ eyes filled with rage as the wand dug deeper into the side of Draco’s neck. Narcissa was saying something from behind them, begging her husband to cease no doubt, but neither men heard her. “So you admit you lied?”_

_“No more than you,” Draco returned icily before reiterating. “The only difference between you and myself, is that I did what I had to. I did what needed to be done.”_

_“You will regret that, boy, you will regret ever disobeying your father! Crucio!” Lucius screamed._

_Draco couldn’t hold back his screams this time and they bellowed out through his father’s study, his mother’s cries resounding with them._

“Draco! Draco! Please, Draco, wake-up!”

Light flooded to meet him and Draco woke in a sweat. His sheets and his chest were drenched in it. Draco took a moment to collect himself, his heart hammering in his chest and his breathing unsteady. “Draco,” the voice breathed softly, relieved, “You were having a nightmare.”

Turning to meet Harry who was sitting on the edge of his bed, Draco felt utterly revealed. “I-I,” his excuse died on his lips. Had he yelled out in his sleep?

Harry was flushed and worried. “Do you want to, uh…do you want to…” he stuttered and stopped himself. Harry must have realised how close he was to Draco who propped himself up on his elbows now, his bedclothes revealing his nude chest.

“It was a memory. My father,” Draco explained shortly. Harry need not know more than that. “I apologise, I must have woken you.”

Harry shook his head, slowly bringing himself to stand from the bed. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, his eyes glued to the ground – looking anywhere but at Draco. “No, I-I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted.

Draco sighed and rubbed his temples. It had been a long time since that particular memory had visited him, but not long enough. He removed himself from the bed and grabbed his wand from the side table, quickly summoning two vials of Dreamless Sleep. They came from the small rather unused vanity in the corner of the room. Harry looked at the stash of potions curiously. “It’s okay to need to rely on potions sometimes,” Draco assured him, offering one of the vials of Dreamless Sleep. “Does your back hurt or is this what you need to rest?”

Harry took the potion and held it tightly in his hands, shaking his head again. “This will do.”

“Are you certain, I could reapply-“

“No, this will do. Thank you, Draco. Are you sure…are you sure you’re…” Harry trailed off, biting his lower lip.

Draco found himself chuckling wearily as he lowered himself back into his bed. He didn’t know the hour but he was certain it was late into the night or early in the morning, whichever it was, it was a fight to stay awake. “Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be worried over you, Harry?”

Harry was turning towards the door and as he opened it, his hand lingered on Draco’s light switch. “Everybody deserves somebody to worry about them.” 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, through my own fault I had forgotten to send this chapter to my beta and thus it is unedited. I hope you all can forgive me for that as well for my lateness. I hope you enjoy it, though! :)

The beginning of Draco’s three day weekend could not have come fast enough. Healer Downey finally decided to give him a regular week of work after his third week back on rotation. Draco felt lucky he had not been stuck with midnights…yet. He wouldn’t know how Harry would handle being alone for a whole week of shifts at night. Draco didn’t know if he could personally handle it, either.

Coming off of his shift, Draco quickly retreated to his seldom used locker. He didn’t mind going out in his Healer robes, however, Blaise had requested his presence in Muggle London for dinner. Wary of leaving Harry at first, the man waiting for him at home assured Draco he would be fine and that he should honestly go.

It had been four weeks since Draco had found Harry. Four weeks since Felix Felicis twisted its definition of luck.

Draco keyed open his locker and tossed his used robes inside and began to unbutton his shirt. A shoulder suddenly pressed against the locker beside his own. “I can’t believe you’re actually sparing time for us.”

Pausing at his last button, Draco drew his eyes up to glare at Blaise. “Us?”

Blaise grinned at him. “Yes. _Us_. It’s Nott’s birthday.”

“Which one?” Draco drawled, removing his shirt and turning back to retrieve the other set of robes and shirt he had brought. He frowned briefly at the reflection of himself in the shining steel of the locker. Against his hoary chest a scar stood out along the centre of it. Momentarily forgetting Blaise’s presence, Draco brought his fingers to the scar and ran the length of it. It felt jagged against his usually smooth skin. It felt out of place, unnatural, and _wrong._

But that scar represented the moment Draco finally started understanding the war was real, that it was coming. From that moment on, he knew Harry Potter was not to be reckoned with.

A voice interrupted his thoughts as lips nearly graced his ear. Blaise was leaning close to him and his hand paused overtop of Draco’s on his chest, pressing into his breast. Draco looked down oddly at the hand hovering over his. “And yet you’re still helping him. You’ve certainly changed, Draco.”

Draco bawled his hand into a fist and Blaise’s closed around his, holding it there. “He may have done this, but there is still no way I can repay him for what he has done for me.”

“Are you referring to the life debt? Honestly, you should check to see if it has absolved because I am certain it has after everything.”

“No, not that…” Draco finally turned from Blaise, prying his hand free as he began to dress himself. “I hurt Harry a lot through-out school.”

“A lot more people have done a lot worse to The Boy Who Lived,” Blaise countered.

“And that makes what I did okay? I was an entitled prat and although I stand by most of what I said…I knew where to hurt Harry most and I did. I always hit him where it hurt the most,” he confessed. “It was malicious, for me to strive to see him in pain all because of what? Envy? My father?” Draco spat bitterly.

Blaise frowned as he leaned back against the locker, crossing his arms as his eyes traced Draco’s face. “As different as you appear, you’re still the same Draco, just without your father. How can the same man care so much for him? He could have killed you,” he whispered, reaching out and pressing his palm fully across the scar now just before Draco closed his new shirt up.

Draco jumped at the invasive touch but did not remove Blaise’s hand. “He could have killed me,” he conceded, “But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He hated me, he must have, and yet he didn’t kill me.”

“Are you sure he didn’t try? Because it looked like he had.”

“If Harry Potter wanted me dead, I have a feeling I would have been dead,” Draco drawled in response. For what it was worth, it was the truth. He was no wizard comparable to Harry and he knew it, and at his age he could admit it. He excelled at Healing and potions and some charms but Harry far exceeded him in all other spell work, including Dark Arts. Draco recalled the moment he first and last saw Harry cast an Unforgiveable Curse – it had been on Amycus Carrow. The fact Harry had done so with such ease horrified him. Even the memory of it had Draco shivering.

Pushing the intruding hand out of the way, Draco finished dressing and the two headed side-by-side to towards the streets of London. “I may have hurt Harry physically at times, but I tore apart his friends whenever I could. I even insulted his mother and father,” Draco grimaced. “I owe Harry more than an apology, and perhaps what he has done to me over the years makes up for some of it…but it is not nearly enough.”

“So, in your head this is some kind of karmic repayment for being a prat?”

Draco scowled. “No. I wasn’t thinking like that when I first found him. I found him, I heard Fletchley, and I knew I just had to take him away from there. There wasn’t any further process to my thoughts than that.”

“And now? What is it that keeps you doing all of this for him?”

That question was one that irked Draco as he had been asking it to himself over the past few weeks. He should turn him over to St. Mungo’s. He should file a report with the aurors at the Ministry. He should let his pathetic Gryffindor friends know where he was and of his condition. Draco shook his head. He had no answer as to why he continued doing what he was doing all he knew was that he needed to. And Harry seemed to prefer it that way, too. At every mention of his old friends, which was seldom, Harry would become stoic and unresponsive. Certainly Draco was better for him than they were.

“Where are we going, then?” Draco asked, turning the attention away from himself.

“Aye, Nott requested a good night out, just the boys.”

“And who exactly are _the boys?”_

Blaise smirked and winked at Draco. “Nott, Bole, Goyle, and ourselves.”

Draco groaned. “Lucian Bole? Who the bloody hell invited that swine?”

“Pansy works with him and since then Nott and Bole have been getting on,” Blaise flippantly explained. “You really pay no attention to your friends, Draco.”

Draco merely shrugged. “Why not go to Diagon or Hogsmeade? Why Muggle London?”

“My suggestion. Was afraid, given the circumstances, you might let something slip if you were under the influence.”

“Pity, it was a wasted gesture. I will not be drinking, not when I should be at home-“

“Mate, if you want to do anything good by Potter you will have a bleeding drink. You need to relax once and awhile if you really want to do your best by him,” Blaise cut him off just as they exited St. Mungo’s and onto the streets. It was becoming cooler by the day but a light jacket was still sufficient enough.

“I can have one, perhaps,” Draco conceded, “To be safe, however, as you never know.”

Blaise grunted as they continued on their way towards the tube. “What is it you dislike about Bole so much, then?”

“He’s an absolute git. This one time at a Yule Ball when I was thirteen I heard him actually say he believed that if you ate the root of a asherberry tree you would become more intelligent. How thick do you honestly have to be to believe that?” Draco scoffed.

“We all can’t be as smart as you,” he teased. “I heard old Lucian has a thing for blonds…” he trailed off suggestively.

Draco turned to him with a deep grimace. “He’s gay? How unfortunate for us men,” he scowled. “There is nothing I wish to do with Bole. Wait, is that why he’s invited?” Draco groaned, turning a glaring eye to his best friend, “You didn’t bloody well invite him for me, did you?”

Blaise chuckled, his hand patting Draco on the shoulder. “Not at all, I was honest when I said he and Nott are really getting on. Just thought you might like to take the bait, is all. It _has_ been a while.”

“Do not assume things, Zabini, you have no idea who I have been with,” Draco tutted, turning his nose up.

Blaise’s chuckle turned into a roaring laugh. “I know you’ve bloody locked yourself in your house with Harry Potter for four weeks!”

“Keep quiet, you imbecile, what if somebody were to hear you! Either way,” Draco sighed, “I want this night to be over with as soon as it can be.”

Placing his arm around Draco’s shoulders, Blaise pulled him in causing his friend to grumble beneath his breath. “Mate, it’s not even started, yet!”

* * *

“You’re kidding me! You and Pansy have children? PANSY-BLOODY-PARKINSON having children? I think I need another drink!” Blaise hollered for the waitress to return to their table.

Draco, despite having his one promised drink, couldn’t relax. He simply couldn’t allow himself the air to breath and no matter the topic of conversation, even the knowledge that Theodore Nott was going to be a father (and Merlin save the child, Pansy was going to be its mother), could not help distract him. Each minute that passed, his eyes drifted towards a clock on the small, dingy pubs wall. The hour was moving far too slowly. Draco was merely thankful Lucian Bole had yet to make an appearance.

“Hey, Draco,” Goyle grunted, nudging his old friend across the table.

Draco stirred, drawing his attention away from the clock and towards Greg. “Hm?” he inquired, not bothering to feign interest.

“Ran into somebody at Gringotts yesterday and they were asking about ye,” Greg started. This, at last, did peak Draco’s interest. “Was interesting, considering who it was. Never thought the bird would talk to me…she was asking if you had any luck. Didn’t know what she was on about but told me to let you know you could owl her if you needed to.”

Raising his eyebrows, Draco leaned forward on the table. He was curious as to who Greg was talking of and his mind automatically landed on Healer Burnie – she had an unnecessary obsession with collecting him, he found.

“S’curious. What would you want with the mudblood?” Greg queried. There was no venom in his voice and yet Draco visibly flinched at the use of the derogatory term. A few months ago, it wouldn’t have bothered him, but for some reason knowing that it was Harry’s old friend, he disliked hearing her referred to in that context.

Draco shrugged, pretending it was no big deal although everybody at the table was looking at him oddly now. Before he had time to explain himself, they were interrupted by another joining party. A hand deposited itself on Draco’s shoulder and grasped it lightly. “Shove down, would you Draco?” he drawled.

Restraining the urge to tell Lucian where exactly he could stick his hand, Draco slid down so that he was now shoulder-to-shoulder with Blaise and Lucian. Bole was nearly as tall as Draco but much wider. His skin was tanned and his hair dark and full. He wasn’t unattractive, but unfortunately for him there wasn’t much between his ears.

The conversation continued up around Draco and his eyes and attention strayed towards the clock again. It was eleven o’clock. He really ought to be getting home. What if Harry were waiting up for him? He usually did and he certainly couldn’t allow him to stay up so late just because he was having a miserable time with his friends. In all honesty, Draco didn’t want to leave simply because he was concerned for Harry, he actually preferred his company.

‘Bloody hell, since when do I prefer the company of Potter to my friends?’ he spat to himself and then looked around. The other men were jostling their drinks, cheering and jeering back and forth as they talked about nonsense Draco honestly couldn’t relate to. Despite Harry’s general silence, Draco felt he could hold a more intelligible conversation with him than he could them.

The hand that had once intruded on his shoulder now fell onto his leg. Draco grit his teeth together and turned towards Lucian who was beaming at him, leaning far too close for Draco’s liking. “You’ve been rather quiet, Draco,” he said into his ear.

Draco shot him a glare. “I have nothing to say,” he returned icily.

“Hm, would you like to get away for a minute? Come by the bar and have a drink with me?” Lucian asked.

Curling his hands into fists, Draco felt wrong at that moment. Exceedingly _wrong_. “I was actually planning on leaving,” Draco announced loudly enough for the other occupants of their table to hear.

There was a collective sigh and attempts to have him stay but Draco nudged Blaise off the shared seat and stood up, brushing off his friends. “Happy birthday, Nott, sorry I am unable to finish the night with you.”

“What’s the excuse this time, Malfoy?” Nott drawled.

“I have early morning engagements to attend to,” he lied.

Blaise leaned in towards the table, a bastard’s grin growing on his face. “A morning engagement? Hah, you’re just excited to get back to your _friend_.”

Lucian frowned whereas Greg and Nott turned an inquiring eye to Draco who flushed. It was difficult to restrain the strong urge to withdraw his wand on Blaise. He shouldn’t have been so foolish to say such a thing. “Piss off, Zabini,” Draco hissed.

“Who the bloody hell is mad enough to be with Malfoy?” Greg joked and turned a quick, apologetic gaze to Lucian. “No offence, mate.”

Lucian appeared unoffended as he folded his arms across his chest and turned on Blaise. “I thought you said he wasn’t with anybody, Blaise.”

Draco growled and was squeezing his hands so tightly into fists he was certain he had cut off his circulation. “Not that my personal life is any of your business, Bole, I am not seeing anybody. There is nobody. There is no _friend_ and if you,” he snapped, turning on Blaise who paled as Draco towered over him, “So much as breathe a word I will curse your bollocks off faster than you can blink.”

Ignoring the lazy chanting of his name, of the calls of consolations and apologies from Blaise, Draco hurried off out of the Muggle pub. As soon as he breathed the crisp, cold air he felt the muscles in his body relaxed. He wasn’t sure where Blaise was getting off, assuming that a night away would do him any good. Instead he felt anxious and weary as he hurried home, apparating to his doorstep the moment he was out of Muggle sight.

Stepping in, he expected a bombard. Or at least a greeting. Or perhaps even an anxious body to be standing in the hallway. Draco wasn’t sure why he was disappointed when he was met with darkness and silence. Sighing, he first checked the study. It looked cleaned, the Chesterfield untouched. Harry’s bedroom appeared much the same. ‘Where the hell could he have gone?’ Draco asked himself, and the quiet halls of his house filled him with a sudden, clenching worry.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Draco bounded down to the kitchen. Empty. The drawing room. Empty. Draco never felt his heart race so much. Then he as running passed the kitchen once more and towards the basement when something caught his eye. A hazy moonlight shone across his back garden and his eyes widened. That was certainly not how he had left his back garden this morning.

The grass was trimmed, the few trees and plants were tended to, and even in the distance there was a small dug-out of dirt beginning though it looked for the most part unfinished. A noise from downstairs drew his attention.

“Draco? Are you home?” Harry called faintly.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Draco ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Apparently so are you,” he muttered. As he descended the stairs, he was surprised to see Harry hovering over the cauldron. It was bubbling enthusiastically. “What are you doing down here?”

Harry frowned and gestured towards the cauldron. “I came to check on it after Cally fixed me dinner and it was frothing. I saw in your notes that once that began you could add the last ingredient. I thought I would be some help,” he shrugged.

“You added the rest of the murtlap?” he must have sounded incredulous because Harry flushed and hung his head, his fringe immediately covering most of his face.

“You’re working a lot and you’re doing so much for me. Everything, really. And-and you offered me your home, you’re healing me…you’re c-caring for me,” he stuttered, “The least I could do was finish the potion you’re brewing for me. Is that not okay? Was I not supposed to add the murtlap? Merlin, did I muck the whole thing up?” Harry suddenly asked, peering up at Draco with large eyes.

“Not at all, I’m just surprised. You hate potions,” Draco said honestly as he came over to stand beside Harry and leaned to peer into the cauldron. A small smile began to grow on his lips as he examined the contents. “It even appears as if it should settle by morning. Far sooner than I had anticipated.”

“Really? You mean in the morning you can…” Harry trailed off as his face screwed up.

Draco understood. He most likely didn’t want to get his hopes up. Or perhaps he was still somewhat fearful of the process of magical healing. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, causing the raven-haired man to jump before settling into the touch. “I will be able to heal you in the morning, yes.”

For the first time in weeks, a smile nearly crept up on Harry’s face. Draco couldn’t help but beam at him before he grew serious again. “What happened to the back garden?” he asked.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, as if he had forgotten all about leaving dinner on the stove as he hurried away from Draco and up the stairs. Raising his eyebrows, Draco slowly followed him up. Harry was standing at the backdoor which he had slung open as he leaned out into the night air. Once he felt Draco come up behind him he began to explain. “Cally said you haven’t done anything to the garden since you moved here. I felt like I need something different today. Some air. Some sun. I’m really handy with gardens,” Harry admitted, blushing as he did. “When I was growing up, my Aunt made me do all sorts of gardening and I hated it but…now, without her screeching at me to get it done, I sort of enjoy it. It’s probably the only thing I can do well without magic.”

Draco ignored his backhanded compliment to himself and leaned against the other side of the doorway, shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry as he squinted out across his garden in the night. “It looks fantastic. I cannot believe you accomplished all of this in a day without magic.”

Harry shrugged. “Aunt Petunia used to make me do a _lot_ of gardening,” he reiterated.

“If you like it as much as you say you do, it’s yours,” Draco gestured out across the landscape. “I may not enjoy the labour of it, but I can appreciate a nice garden as well as the next man. You can do as you please to it. As long as there’s enough space to fly,” he quickly added, despite the fact he hadn’t flown in what felt like ages.

“If you honestly meant that, er, can…can you get me somethings for it? I could plant you some flowers of your choice, but I’m really rather better with herbs and vegetables…would you let me do that?” Harry asked timidly. “I mean, if you let me…if I’m allowed to stay and if-“

Draco pressed a heavy hand into his shoulder this time and gave it a squeeze. “That would be fine. But you will have to give me explicit instructions on what to buy. If it has escaped you over the years, I possess little knowledge of Muggles and their tools. If you wish to garden without magic, I am unsure of what sort of Muggle necessities you would need to have.”

Harry turned his attention from the dark garden to the hand on his shoulder and studied it carefully from the corner of his eye. “Maybe…I can go with you?” he asked slowly.

“Go with me?” Draco repeated, as if he didn’t understand the question. “Harry, you don’t have to, I’m sure I can figure out-“

“I know but I want to,” he said firmly.

Draco pursed his lips. He was unsure of how he felt about escorting Harry out of his home. Here he was protected. Here it was just the two of them. ‘Here you can be Draco and not Malfoy,’ he thought in the back of his head. Out there…out there was a whole different world. “Let’s take it one step at a time,”’ he suggested. “And if we are going to heal you in the morning, we should both retire.”

Harry agreed and let the subject of him leaving the house go as he shut the backdoor. They started up the stairs together and were about to part at Harry’s door before Draco stopped him, lightly grasping his forearm. “Thank you, for the potion and the back garden.”

“Don’t thank me,” Harry said shaking his head. “I’m only trying to do what I can to repay you.”

Sighing, Draco released his arm. “You don’t have to repay me for anything, that’s not why I’m helping you.”

Turning to his bedroom, Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco briefly as he whispered, “I know,” before gently shutting the door.

* * *

“Are you ready?”

“Can you tell that I’m lying when I say yes?”

Pressing a hand down onto the centre of Harry’s bare back, Draco grazed his palm comfortingly down an unmarked area of his spine. He felt Harry shiver beneath his touch. Draco shivered in response. “I promise it won’t hurt,” he reassured him.

“I trust you,” Harry muttered into his pillow. He had his arms curled up underneath it and he was gripping it tightly. He was lying in his trousers, Draco hovering close over top of him, determining which course he was going to make with the healing balm.

“If you need me to stop, simply ask,” Draco reminded him. “You are going to feel a bit of numbing, perhaps some prickling sensations, but you should not feel any pain.” He counted down beneath his breath and just before he dipped the balm down onto Harry’s skin, the raven-haired man tensed considerably.

The salve came out of its vial languidly. It was thick and smelt faintly of something sterile yet pungent. Draco took his time maneuvering the wounds on Harry’s back. He filled each of them with the salve. Harry eventually relaxed under Draco’s touch. The process took no more than ten minutes before Draco rubbed the remainder of the salve off his hands and onto a cloth nearby. “You just need to lie there and allow the potion to settle in,” Draco instructed. “How does it feel?”

“Odd,” Harry mumbled into the pillow. “Like something is gently vibrating on my back.”

“Hm, that sounds as it should. I think we may have done it, Harry,” Draco smiled as he watched the wounds on Harry’s back. Nothing would visibly change. The wounds themselves wouldn’t heal. Draco would have to do that as he did any other lacerations. The potion was merely acting as an anecdote to the one that was previously used on Harry.

“Will there be scars?” Harry queried.

“No, these are not curse marks. They have infected with a poison, but they are not cursed,” Draco explained.

“Is there a way to remove curse scars?” Harry sounded hopeful.

Draco frowned. “Yours has faded because the one who cursed you is gone,” he explained, “But it will never truly fade to nothing.” Then Draco remember the other curse scar Harry now adorned. The one lower on his abdomen, nestled into his pelvis. “I have heard of some potions that can cause curse scars to fade. I will look into it.”

“Y-you don’t have to.”

Draco laid his hand on Harry’s back once again. “I will look into it,” he said firmly. “We should be able to begin the healing process in a minute. I have to warn you, this part can be uncomfortable. It may hurt, but no more than a mild stinging hex. It should be relatively quick. I merely need you to lie very still during the entire process.”

Harry nodded the best he could from his position. Draco breathed out shakily. Healing lacerations were no walk in the park, yet it certainly was not as difficult as one would think. He merely wished he didn’t have to cause Harry anymore pain to properly heal him, and Draco feared he would somehow fail the process – though he never had previously.

Steadying his wand overtop of the relatively still body, Draco closed his eyes. He concentrated on the low energy he could feel passing between himself and his wand. Visualization was key to healing. You had to see yourself mending the darkness, you had to see yourself emitting light. At least with hands on healing like what he was about to perform. It had been the most difficult part of the profession for Draco to learn. It was something like meditation, but he didn’t have to go nearly as deep.

Once he was ready, he peeked out under his eyelids which barely opened. Draco picked the lowest wound to start with. “ _Emantia_ ,” he whispered. A warm light erupted from his wand and immediately sought out the wound he was gazing at. A sharp intake of breath escaped Harry and his body tensed but he barely moved. Draco tried to ignore the urge to console him. He needed to concentrate on the task of healing. The quicker he could complete it, the sooner Harry would be free of these wounds and the pain that came along with them.

Throughout the process, Harry did as Draco asked and barely moved. Draco was impressed. He knew it must hurt more than he had elicited it would have. Was that bravery, or was it simply desensitization to the pain? Draco didn’t want to know the answer, but he was glad he was able to heal the lacerations within a half hour. When he was finished, small beads of sweat trickled the landscape of his forehead. With the last light withering away from the spell, Draco was able to lean back and take a good look at Harry’s back.

Relief. Joy. Happiness. Once again, Draco had difficulties pinning down exactly which emotion was rushing through him. Harry raised himself up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder anxiously. “You’re awfully quiet, Draco. Did everything go alright?”

“It went brilliantly. Harry,” he said softly, “They’re gone. They’re all gone.”

Bringing himself up fully now, Draco turned away, his cheeks colouring as he caught sight of Harry’s torso. “I-I can’t feel them anymore. Well…there’s this leftover…tingling, sort of. But they don’t hurt,” Harry said, slowly bringing himself up from the bed. He pulled his shirt over himself and stretched his arms high overhead. He experimented moving side-to-side. “You did it. They’re gone. Draco…” Harry trailed off, his voice choking.

Draco turned back to him. He understood. He could see the gratitude in Harry’s eyes, he could hear how thankful he was in the slight quiver of his voice. He didn’t need anything in return, he was equally as happy to have finally finished physically healing Harry. “Come on, Cally must have finished breakfast by now.”

Harry nodded, although his demeanor was lighter than before he still couldn’t manage to bring a smile to his lips. Draco wondered how long it would be before Harry could truly feel happy again. Could he ever? Holly had continuously reminded Draco it was all individualistic and there was no timeline to that sort of mental healing.

They settled in at the breakfast table, both feeling light-hearted and conversational. Harry began to talk, even with a slight edge of enthusiasm to his tone, about what he planned to do with the back garden. Draco listened to his plans, a small smile hanging at the corner of his lips the entire time. This was a large improvement from a little over a month ago. He was glad in the decisions he had made for both himself and Harry – it appeared he had chosen rightfully when he became dedicated to being his personal healer. Then the daunting question hit him; now what?

Gripping his cuppa, Draco appeared suddenly stricken. Harry stopped his rant on what types of flowers and herbs they could plant this late in the season and leaned across the table, his brows knitted together with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, Draco shook him off. “Just wondering if I have enough Muggle currency for everything you will need.”

“You can use whatever money is in my vault at Gringotts,” Harry offered.

Draco looked across the table. He hadn’t honestly been thinking about money, but now that he had mentioned it himself, he would need to make a trip to Gringotts in order to convert some galleons to pounds. “No, money is not the issue. I simply do not make it a habit to have a copious amount of Muggle currency in the house. Perhaps, could the shopping endeavour wait until tomorrow? I can run to Gringotts today on my own, even though it’ll be bloody chaotic,” he mumbled. He despised going to Diagon Alley on the weekend. The crowds, though they parted for and sneered at him, were best when avoided entirely. “I need to pop into the apothecary again, to gather some ingredients that may be useful to healing curse scars.”

Harry blushed and dropped his eyes down to his plate. “You really don’t have to bother with that, I was only wondering.”

“I want to bother with it,” Draco said quickly. “Besides, I would be rather impressed with myself if I were able to entirely heal a curse scar. I may even go so far as to say it would be one of the greatest feats of my potions career,” he boasted.

Harry looked at him sheepishly before seeing that he was actually serious and then rolled his eyes. “You’re a git, Malfoy.” Draco grinned. “So, tomorrow you’re going to go shopping in Muggle London?”

Draco shook his head. “There’s a small town not too far from here. If I ever need to do Muggle shopping, which is a rare occasion on its own, I prefer to go there.”

“Does that mean you will allow me to come?”

The urge to immediately deny the request nearly tipped out of Draco but he suppressed himself. He was not Harry’s keeper. He was not his warden. Draco had no intention to make Harry feel imprisoned within this house. “If you truly want to come along, I will not stop you,” Draco said at least. “You are free to do as you wish, Harry, I don’t have to _allow_ you to do anything.”

“Then I would like to come,” he said finitely.

Draco sighed. He tried to hide his discomfort with the thought of Harry being out there, amongst people, and he must have done so well enough because Harry began to talk about the garden again. Draco tuned him out as he considered why Harry leaving made him so uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the fear of being unable to truly protect him, or that something could go awry and Harry could end up worse off from the experience. Harry was resilient, that much was obvious, and Draco need not worry about him walking around a Muggle town with him. It may be nerve-wrecking, but it wouldn’t mentally disable Harry.

‘You’re afraid that if he goes out, eventually he may never come back.’

Draco’s grip on his fork loosened and it clattered to his plate. The truth of his own thought struck him, sending an unwarranted fervor of discontent through him. “Draco, are you sure you’re alright?” Harry questioned slowly.

“I think I should make it to Gringotts soon. The earlier I leave, the better. Is there anything you need while I’m in Diagon Alley?” Draco asked, abruptly standing from the table. Maybe if he distracted himself enough, he could forget the realisation that had just dawned upon him.

Harry mutely shook his head, watching Draco oddly who seemed intent on leaving within the moment as if it were a dire need. Draco merely muttered a goodbye as he gathered himself, his key to his Gringotts vault, and a cloak. He hurried along and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

Weaving through the crowds of Diagon Alley, Draco still couldn’t shake his realisation. ‘You don’t want him to leave,’ he told himself. ‘But why do I care? After everything I’ve done over the past month, certainly he will still keep in touch with me…so what does it matter if he leaves? He needs to learn how to be himself again, how to live again.’

‘You don’t want Harry to come see you simply because he’s obligated to since you healed him,’ his inner voice reasoned.

‘Then why do I want Harry to see me? Why do I want him to stay?’ Draco groaned. He felt like hitting himself, and he nearly did before he remembered he was amidst the public, drowning the streets of Diagon Alley. He was suddenly reminded on Blaise’s insinuation the previous night. Was that all it came down to? Was he developing feelings for Harry? Did he want Harry to stay simply for the reason that he enjoyed his company?

‘You wanted to go home to him more than you wanted to stay out with your friends. Lucian Bole is a twat but he is a good looking man,’ he said to himself. Two months ago, if Lucian had approached him like he did last night, Draco would have almost certainly gone home with him. Nothing would have happened besides that one night, but he would have done it without question. But now? Now he was too busy filling his head with thoughts of Harry.

“Healer Malfoy, what has made you to look so cross?” That familiar low voice asked him.

Draco was stopped in the middle of the street, merely half a block from Gringotts. Holly Burnie stood before him, a few parcels in her arms as she smirked at him. “Oh, Healer Burnie…Holly,” he corrected himself. “I’m not cross, just lost in thought,” he said honestly. Draco looked behind her and towards the bank. He must have appeared anxious because she stepped out of his way, her smirk growing.

“As lovely as it is to see you, you clearly have places to be,” Holly inclined her head. “Oh, and do give my regards to your friend. Mr. Zabini, is it?”

Draco was about to start off towards Gringotts again when he turned to her, blinking. “Blaise?”

Holly nodded. “I knew there was a good reason you were avoiding all of my advances. It makes sense, now that I know you were already taken. I am still glad we can continue our professional relationship, however,” she conceded.

“Taken?” Draco repeated confusedly.

“Yes, taken,” Holly reiterated a little more seriously. “Have you not seen the post this morning?”

Draco blanched. “You mean the Prophet?”

“Here, I have mine on me still,” she offered Draco her parcels as she fished under her arm for a folded up Daily Prophet. She switched with Draco and he looked down at the paper. “Fourth page,” she instructed shortly.

Draco couldn’t get to the fourth page quick enough and once he did he felt his stomach turn at the picture that accompanied the heinous headline.

_‘Former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, Finally Taken?’_

* * *

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? Not a big deal? They-the _public_ think I’m involved in some sort of triste with that swine!”

“Er,” Harry paused, he was currently on his knees in the back garden, hovering over the last area which needed to be rid of weeds. Turning upwards, he used his hand to block the afternoon sun so he could peer at Draco’s towering figure. The blond was in quite the mood over the article, along with the accompanying pictures which somebody must have taken without their knowledge whilst in the St. Mungo’s employee rooms the night before. “Isn’t Blaise your friend?”

“My friend, exactly. Not my partner or whatever that blasted Skeeter woman said he is,” Draco snapped, waving his hand absently at The Daily Prophet which was lying on the grass by Harry.

Turning his attention back to the weeds, Harry muttered, “She said lover.” 

Draco groaned. “Fantastic. Bloody fantastic is what that is!”

“I still don’t see what the big deal is. Blaise knows you’re not together, you know that, the people who matter most to you know the truth, right?”

“Yes, but anybody who is anybody knows Blaise Zabini is an absolute heathen when it comes to relationships. I cannot have people assuming we have some sort of suggestive liaison,” Draco whinged.

“To be fair, it looked pretty suggestive to me.”

All but spluttering, Draco dropped down beside Harry on the burnt grass and snatched the paper up. He leafed through till the fourth page and swore again at the photographs. Blaise and he were sharing a rather intense look, their gaze unwavering, and Blaise’s hand was pressed into his chest. “You just don’t understand, Harry, I can’t have people thinking I’ve committed myself to a pureblood lunatic. It just will not do. I have strived for years to regain the Malfoy name, something as simple as this could destroy it.”

Sighing, Harry leaned back on his ankles and rubbed his soot encrusted palms on his jeans. “If anybody understands, I do. Remember back in Fourth Year, those rubbish articles about Hermione, me, and Viktor Krum?”

“Yes, well, your name could not be tarnished, you’re Harry Potter,” Draco pouted petulantly.

“I assume you are entirely forgetting just after Sixth Year? Before the war, the Prophet published horrible articles about me, about Dumbledore…that Skeeter bitch has been posting nonsense about me since I was eleven. I get it, Draco, and like I said,” Harry looked over at him, shrugging, “It’s not a big deal. Besides, what were you two doing?” Harry began concentrating on a blade of grass he had picked and brought to his lap. He peered at it as if he were waiting for it to do something, but instead it sat still, crushed in between his fingers. Draco noticed a faint blush rising on his neck. “I mean, if it isn’t what they’re saying it is…what were you two doing?”

A jolt of pride swept through Draco. Harry sounded jealous. Jealous of Blaise. “We were talking about you,” he answered truthfully.

Harry turned towards him, eyes flashing. “Me?”

“Mm, Blaise was merely questioning my motives to helping you, after everything we have been through. He brought up Sixth Year…what you did, left a scar,” Draco explained. At the pain that suddenly crossed Harry’s face, Draco reached out to him, grabbing both of his hands between his own. “And I will tell you what I told Blaise. I owe you more than an apology for everything I put you through. Even still, what I do for you now is not to make amends on my character. I do what I am doing not only for you, but for me. I feel incredibly inclined to help you in any way I can. Maybe Felix Felicis knew I would and that is why he brought me to you. Maybe, by helping you, I’m really helping myself,” Draco admitted, squeezing the soiled hands between his own.

Harry neglected to respond and he appeared lost in thought. He sat there, still, allowing his hands to be held tightly by Draco.

After a few moments of silence, Draco released his hands and stood from the grass. “There are many things that should be done before going out tomorrow, I should start tending to them.” He started back towards the house but Harry stopped him by grabbing his wrist. Draco looked down at Harry’s hand and then at him.

“For tomorrow…” he trailed off, flushing. “My hair,” Harry said at last. “It’s a wreck. I don’t usually care but…I can’t go out like this.”

Draco found himself grinning. “That, I can help you with.”


	9. Chapter Nine

 “I don’t want anyone to touch me…” Harry admitted, chewing his lower lip as he looked up at Draco sheepishly, “…unless it’s you.”

Draco felt a warm wave of triumph wash over him before he reached forward, tempted to hold Harry’s hand, but retracting it at the last moment. “Come on then, there is no time like the present,” he smiled.

Retrieving a pair of scissors, Draco cleaned them before directing Harry to a chair in the kitchen. He stood behind the head of raven hair, his confidence faltering. Despite not seeing him, Harry must have felt the hesitation. “You can’t make it any worse than it already is. It’ll be fine, Draco,” he added softly.

Nodding, Draco took a few deep breaths before running his hand through the locks. It was incredibly thick and Draco had to wonder if the Potter was half descended from black bears – it would explain his not only his hair but also his knack for trouble and bluntness. After carding his fingers through Harry’s hair until he was satisfied with their position, Draco brought the scissors to the first section of hair he separated and held loosely.

At the first snip, and with it Harry’s resulting sigh of ease, Draco pondered how much Harry had come to trust him. He was brandishing a sharp weapon at his head, and yet Harry even seemed remotely comfortable. As he continued his work, Draco realised how important that trust given to him was. Nobody had valued him so much in his life, save his mother.

A half hour later, Draco abandoned the scissors and dove the tips of his fingers into the hair. He hadn’t cut a considerable amount off but it was enough to make a noticeable difference. Draco’s fingers found Harry’s skull and he pressed into it in an almost kneading fashion. He wasn’t sure why, but his fingers kept massaging his head despite his mind yelling at him, telling him  that he was being invasive.

“Mm, feels good,” Harry mumbled as his head tipped backwards and further into Draco’s hands.

Draco stopped immediately. An image from his dream came flooding to him. Harry’s body moaning appreciatively beneath his hands. “I said it felt good, not to stop,” Harry interrupted.

Draco withdrew his hands as if burnt. “I know, I just…I need to go to the loo,” he lied.

Retreating as fast as he could, Draco soon found himself facing a shaking ghost in the mirror.  He scowled at himself. ‘Pathetic. I really am falling for Harry. After all he has been through and I can’t stop thinking of him? How vile of me,’ he inwardly spat. ‘Harry, you don’t deserve a cretin like me, and I certainly don’t deserve you.’

A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts. “Draco? Listen, if you buggered it up, it doesn’t matter. Once, my Aunt made such a hash of my hair that I became so embarrassed of it that without even trying I magically regrew it overnight.”

Draco shook his head and chuckled tightly as he opened the door, “That sounds like something only you could do.”

Harry shrugged. “It was a really bad haircut.”

Taking a step back, Draco observed Harry and found his inappropriate thoughts threatening to resurface. “No, it looks good. Tidier,” he commented.

Pushing passed him into the bathroom, Harry observed himself in the mirror. Slowly, he brought his hands up to run through his hair as his brow furrowed. “It looks the same.”

Draco groaned. “You’re hopeless. It looks much better.”

“Are we really going out tomorrow?” Harry asked seriously.

“If you wish it,” he replied, but at Harry’s frown he continued. “It will be nice, fun even. All of my galleons, er, pounds will be at your disposal.”

“Can we talk about it? What we are going to do. It might make me more comfortable.”

“Certainly. However, let’s do so over dinner. The dismal state of your hair has not put me off my appetite.”

“Have you ever considered the thought that you may be vain?”

A smirk met Harry. “Considered it? I relish it.”

Shaking his head, Harry followed Draco down to the kitchen as he mumbled something that sounded akin to, “Prat.”

* * *

It was difficult to determine who was more nervous; as Draco stood on his front step, Harry tentatively within the threshold, time slowed to a near stop. They lingered in silence, Draco staring intently at Harry who kept his eyes trained on Draco’s hand which was outstretched towards him. It wasn’t just the act of going outside, or into public, Harry leaving the comforts of Draco’s property was more than that. It would be a leap in his recovery, a leap towards being able to function on his own again.

At last the moment passed and Harry reached forward. He not only grasped Draco’s hand but immediately entwined their fingers. “Is this okay?”

Draco wanted to say it wasn’t. He wanted to dislike the feeling of Harry holding his hand, but he couldn’t lie to himself nor to Harry. “Whatever you need is okay,” he assured. “Let’s take it slowly. We will apparate to the town and from there we can walk where we need to. Are you ready?”

Harry didn’t respond, instead he squeezed Draco’s hand tighter. Drawing the shorter man closer, they were facing one another as Draco slipped his free arm around Harry’s waist. He felt his own breath hitch as Harry looked up at him in surprise. “You once told me apparating makes you ill. This might help,” he supplied. But the surprise never left Harry’s face. Draco closed his eyes and apparated with a loud crack.

As soon as they landed he released Harry but found he couldn’t. Harry had both hands on his shoulders now and was gripping him tightly. His head hung, his newly trimmed fringe covering his eyes. Harry was breathing heavily. “Are you alright?” Draco asked concernedly.

“F-fine. It’s just been awhile,” Harry admitted.

Slipping out of Harry’s grip, Draco offered his hand which was quickly taken once again. “The town, New Haven, it’s merely three streets. A hamlet. You can lead the way, I am certain you will be able to find what you need.”

Harry took a look around them. They appeared to be in a back lot of a building. It was relatively early in the afternoon and it did appear for the most part abandoned. They began to walk alongside one another, Harry’s grip on Draco’s fingers tightening considerably once they found their way to the main street of New Haven. There were very few others, but enough to cause Harry’s nervousness to rise. As they started down the street, Harry paid more attention to the passersby than the stores.

Draco leaned in after a moment, his breath ghosting Harry’s ear as he did. “I’m right beside you,” he whispered, “Try to relax.”

Swallowing, Harry nodded. Instead of concentrating on the people, Harry concentrated on the hand in his own. They must have walked the length of the street because by the time he looked around himself, they appeared to be in a residential area. “Damn, I guess I should have paid more attention to the shops,” Harry muttered embarrassingly.

Draco chuckled and shrugged. “It’s a nice enough day for a walk.” Harry looked over at him, his eyes shining oddly. “Nice enough for a walk but I don’t want to be stuck in the streets all day,” Draco added pointedly as he turned them both around.

Once they were back within the shopping district, Harry felt more at ease and his grip slackened on Draco’s hand, though he did not let go altogether. They finally began to explore the shops. Harry was tentative at first before he began to sort through the displayed objects and wares more assuredly. It was by the fourth shop that Harry at last relinquished Draco’s hand, perhaps without even realising it, and Draco reluctantly let him go. He stood off in the corner of what seemed like a shop for Muggle home upkeep. Draco watched Harry browse the items, picking some up and turning them over before setting them down once again.

A middle-aged woman approached Harry from behind and Draco immediately began to straighten up, his eyes narrowed. She looked harmless, and is if she worked there. She placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder. The rest happened so quickly.

The woman let out a surprised squeak as Harry tore from the shop, dropping the items he was holding onto the floor. He had run past Draco, not giving him a second glance. Draco was torn between immediately running after him and cleaning up his mess. Draco went over to the woman and apologised. “My friend is…” he trailed off, he wasn’t sure how to explain Harry’s actions. Draco bent down and collected the odd items in his arms. “Did he break anything?”

“N-no I don’t think so,” the clerk faltered as she spoke.

Draco proceeded to the counter and quickly bought everything and took the offered bags before hurrying out onto the street after Harry.

Two doors down, Harry was leaning up against a brick wall of what appeared to be a shutdown shop. His head was leaning backwards, his eyes closed, and he appeared to be concentrating on his breathing. Even with his eyes closed, he felt Draco’s presence next to him. “I don’t like being touched,” he explained shortly.

“You let me touch you,” Draco countered.

Harry sighed as he opened his eyes, they fell wearily on Draco. “I don’t like being touched by anybody besides you.”

Draco suppressed the urge to grinned and merely nodded. “I understand. I bought whatever it was you were holding. Do you think you have everything you need?”

“Yes, but…I don’t want to go home, yet.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. He was certainly surprised by Harry’s determination to their public outing. He was doing far better than he thought he would. “Where would you like to go then?”

“I saw a café, not far from where we came in,” Harry suggested, but was already taking the lead in walking in that direction. Draco quickly followed, readjusting all of the bags he was holding.

“You are taking everything fairly well,” Draco commented.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think the public bothers me so much, the crowd, but the thought of being touched does. I can’t imagine going into Diagon Alley, though,” he shivered. “It was mayhem before, I can’t imagine how devastating it would be to show up there now.”

“It certainly would not be a quiet affair. Harry Potter, resurfaces with Death Eater,” Draco said dryly, “You think we might shock them into leaving us alone if we went together?”

The question went unanswered as Harry led them into the small café. They were immediately greeted by a younger staff, a petite woman who was trying too hard to smile. Strange, shining devices attached to her teeth met Draco as she did. As they sat down and she took their orders, he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. As soon as she was out of earshot, Draco leaned across the table. “What the bloody hell is wrong with her teeth?”

“Sometimes I forget how oblivious of Muggles you are,” Harry returned, a semblance of amusement in his voice. “They’re called braces. Muggles wear them to make their teeth straight, they have to wear them for a long time.”

“Braces? Hm, at least they are inventive,” Draco reasoned. “So, what do you think of this little Hamlet I found?”

“I like it. I mean, I was thinking I may even want to come here on my own, when you’re at work.”

Draco looked up at him sharply. “Alone? Harry, you would have to apparate here on your own and-“

“I know, and I think I may be ready to do it,” he cut him off strongly. There was a challenge lingering in his emerald eyes and Draco was reminded of the man Harry truly was, beneath his damaged shell.

“Whatever you want. Can I suggest coming here with me at least once more? I still have tomorrow off, we could come here for dinner.”

“You would let me come out on my own?” Harry asked in a whisper.

Leaning across the table again, Draco pulled up his sleeves as he did, folding his hands together as he stared at Harry seriously. “You are not my captive. I am not your keeper. You can come and go as you please, anytime you would like. My concern for you is only that of your Healer.”

Harry was looking intently down at Draco’s arms, his eyes narrowed. “Only that of my Healer?” he countered softly.

Draco opened his mouth to respond but the words didn’t come to him. He had no answer to that. The petite woman reappeared and placed their drinks before them before starting off towards the counter again. Draco was amused by the thought of telling Harry of his developing feelings, the ones he couldn’t even put a name to. Perhaps he had a right to know. But how was he supposed to say it? Would it break the trust Harry had placed in him? Would Harry retaliate simply because Draco was the one who had found and freed him, because he healed him?

“You never show your mark,” Harry commenting, breaking through Draco’s thoughts.

Startled, Draco looked down at to where Harry had been staring the entire time. The faded, but ever visible, Dark Mark looked up at them. “I learned long ago to keep it hidden. I used to, out of shame, but now I do because it makes people ill at ease. After my release, I was walking through Diagon Alley when a little boy had a fit after seeing it. He was horrified by me, simply because I bear the Dark Mark. People too often judge me by the mark,” Draco spat the last part, as if he were offended.

“Can you blame them? When they see the mark they see their friends dying; their family members being dragged into the Ministry for questioning and sometimes never coming back out again. They see a body count, they see a funeral,” Harry explained.

“I never killed anyone! I never wanted any of what happened to happen! I may not be fond of Muggles but that hardly makes me a murderer or a convict! Why can’t people see that?” he snapped defensively. Draco breathed out through his nose. This was a subject he never felt comfortable breaching, certainly not with Harry.

Harry leaned across the table, pushing his glasses up lazily. “You never stopped anything from happening, either. At least not in their eyes. They know your story, your trial was public, Draco, but that doesn’t mean they know you.”

Pursing his lips Draco looked back down at the Dark Mark. It would always be there – a reminder of his cowardice, of his failures, and of his father’s choices. “You keep saying they, but what do you think of when you see it?”

Tentatively, Harry reached his hand across the table and ran his fingers across the mark. Draco jumped at the touch, taken aback that Harry was willingly touching him. Harry’s eyes seemed curiously trained on the mark, his fingers resting at the base of Draco’s wrist now.

“I see what they do whenever I see the Dark Mark,” he paused, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “But, when I see it on you, I always remember that moment when you choose to be good. When you choose unselfishness for the first time.”

Draco’s eyes went wide. “You mean in the Manor, don’t you? During the war?”

“You could have easily redeemed your family but instead you choose my life. Really, Draco, you’re quite the _saviour_ yourself,” he slowly looked up, a grin peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

He couldn’t help it. Draco laughed. In that moment he was glad to see that Harry nearly laughed back. Draco could see it; he knew it was hidden there somewhere, that happiness that monster had buried. And Draco would do whatever he could to help resurface it.

* * *

Time was an increasingly difficult presence for Draco to catch up to. Perhaps that had always been the case but it wasn’t as prevalent until now.

Draco was unable to save his Father from the clutches of the Dark Lord. Draco, child or not, should have foreseen the threat to his mother but even if he had, would there have been enough time to protect her? To have brought her somewhere safe? There wasn’t enough time to make the decisions he should have when faced by Death Eaters, and so he had chosen what had appeared like the only plausible decisions within those moments. There wasn’t enough time to tell anybody who he could trust, there wasn’t enough time to explain to anybody that he needed help. That he desperately wanted help. But time never permitted him to ask for it.

Now there wasn’t enough time to hold onto. Draco desperately wanted it to stop. Life had reached a peak, as it sometimes did, and he feared for its ebb. When the waves drew back, where would it leave him? Lost at sea again, monotonously attempting to reclaim his name, leading the pointless social crusade by himself.

Yet, he was also thankful for time. It allowed Harry’s physical wounds to heal and the rest, the wounds Draco couldn’t see but he knew were there, time began to erase them, too. But it was bittersweet. The closer Harry came to healing, the closer he came to leaving Draco and after two months it was beginning to become strikingly obvious how much Draco had come to enjoy his company.  The trials they overcame, Harry overcame, were one thing but what they had shared was another. Draco never spoke of his feelings towards his Dark Mark with anyone else. It was only ever Harry. And Harry, he shared his past with Draco in increasing amounts that surprised his host more than anything else. The only past he had not learned of was his life before Hogwarts, and Draco wanted desperately to know of it but knew it wasn’t his place. None of this was his place. He was Harry’s host. He was Harry’s Healer. Nothing more.

Time would prove that.

“You know, I was thinking about letting some people know. About me. Being back, and all,” Harry broached the subject as Draco unwound from an evening shift at the hospital. They were in Draco’s basement, as he was once again hoping to perfect a personalised salve that could heal Harry of his scars.

“Fletchley is still out there, and if he is as psychotic as I imagine the bastard is, he won’t…” Draco exhaled heavily, stopping himself. Justin Finch-Fletchley wouldn’t take Harry again, Draco wouldn’t let him. “It’s not safe.”

“I was thinking about that, too. Here, take these,” Harry offered Draco the lacewing flies he had now expertly sliced. Draco absently thought of the good potions assistant Harry was becoming – not at all resembling his potions career at Hogwarts. “I think I want to pursue him.”

Draco dropped the lacewing flies he was handed onto the table and swore. They were scattered about his work station. Harry quickly aided him in collecting them as Draco leaned back onto his stool. “Pursue him? How do you mean?”

“I want to take him to court. Before the Wizengamot. However wizards sue each other,” Harry flippantly waved his hand. “I think if I make sure he can’t come near me ever again, I’ll finally be okay.”

“Harry, a case like yours will take a long time to execute. You would have to make yourself public, first.”

“Would my accusations and proof not be enough to hold F-Fletchley in custody of the aurors while the case is pursued?”

“Indefinitely. And whether or not it would, I wouldn’t let Fletchley get to you either way,” Draco assured him.

Harry grinned and shook his head, chuckling. “Draco Malfoy, who thought you could care so much?”

Draco glared coolly at him. “Caring is what made me a Death Eater, unless you forgot. I simply cared for my mother more than I did for myself. And now-“

“What? Now you care about me more than you do about yourself?” Harry laughed again. Draco grit his teeth, maybe Harry didn’t realise how insulting he was being – or how close to the truth he was. “I see how you treat Blaise, and he’s your best friend. But with me…”

“With you nothing, Harry,” Draco snarled. “The point is you want to sue Fletchley and that is a very serious step to take and I want to make sure that you’re ready to take it. You’ve come a long way, in an extraordinarily short amount of time. Even Healer Burnie is utterly amazed at your progress and she is a woman that has seen it all.”

Harry scoffed. He never did approve of Draco continuously updating Healer Burnie on his status, despite his privacy being kept. “I’m ready. This is a step I need to take and I think it has been long enough. Besides, if you’ll help me, then how can everything not be alright?”

Draco sighed. He knew it was a good idea, but it was just another step Harry was taking away from him. Draco didn’t want him to be dependent on his help, but he certainly didn’t want him to not need him any longer, either. “Unless you forget, my name holds very little in a court of law these days.”

“I’m the last person who would ever use a name to get me anywhere,” Harry shot back. “I meant just having you there, as support,” he reached out and grabbed Draco’s upper arm, squeezing it briefly.

“As good of an idea as I think this is, I think you need to prepare yourself more, first,” Draco stood up again, returning his attention to the potion. “The best thing you can do is write down everything you remember. From the moment you and Fletchley began your _relationship_ until the moment I found you. In the meantime, I can contact my mother and ask for some texts pertaining to Ministry procedure, protocol and laws. Blaise can talk us through a lot of the procedures, he knows far too much about the legal system than is safe – there is not much information I would trust that lunatic with.”

“You trusted him with me,” Harry pointed out.

Draco smirked. “Blaise, like all Slytherins, is incredibly loyal to their friends but not much else.”

“Oh?” Harry came up behind Draco. Despite being shorter, he somehow brought his lips to just beside Draco’s ear. “And what’s your excuse then?”

A shiver ran through Draco and he quickly shook it off. If he concentrated, he could have the salve completed by the time Harry woke the next morning. Harry moved away and started towards the stairs. “Where are you going?” Draco called.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco and sent him a half-smile. “To start writing, of course. You were right, if I want to do this, I need to prepare.”

Once Draco was left alone, he placed the last ingredient inside the cauldron and watched its reaction before stirring it concisely. Time, Draco revisited, honestly needed to slow down. He didn’t know if he could handle losing Harry’s presence in his home any sooner than he had to. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the worst, I know. My most sincere of apologies for abandoning this fic for nearly a year. It was hardly meant to happen. I underwent many life changes (graduated college, began my career, bought a house, became a single mum, etc.) and thus had to abandon this particular piece of writing for a period of time. However, I do believe I am re-committed to finish this piece and I hope to have it completed by the New Year. Expect another chapter post-haste. Please review and enjoy.

“You do it.”

Draco looked at Harry. “You are perfectly capable of doing it.” He pushed the salve into Harry’s hand which was still refusing to close around it.

“I know, but I want you to be the one to get rid of it.”

Swallowing heavily, Draco could only nod. This hadn’t been the reason he imagined himself being on his knees for Harry, but he dropped to them and motioned for Harry to begin removing his clothing. There was no hesitation.

“I’ve been feeling a lot better lately. My back doesn’t hurt, I feel like everything is all healed…and I’m even comfortable whenever I visit that little town, Lowell. I think once you get rid of,” Harry paused as he unbuckled his trousers, yanking them down just far enough to reveal the brand Fletchley had left, “ _This_ thing, I can actually start moving on.”

Draco hummed in response, he couldn’t trust himself to speak at the moment as his face was an inch away from Harry’s bare pelvis. He began applying his concoction as Harry continued to talk, maybe it eased him. “I appreciate everything you have done, I don’t know where I would be without all of your help. And the garden, thank you for letting me-“

“Harry,” Draco said levelly, “I don’t care what you do to my bloody garden and I’m nearly finished here. It should take an hour to set before removing the mark entirely, if I am as good of a potion brewer as I know I am.”

Harry looked down at him and smiled. Ever since their first outing, he seemed to be doing a lot more of that. Reaching down with the hand that wasn’t steadying his trousers and briefs, Harry placed his palm overtop of Draco’s hand which was softly rubbing the salve into the brand. “You’re shaking,” he commented.

“How observant,” Draco bit out. Was Harry purposefully patronizing him? At last he stood up but cursed himself for not backing away first for now he was breathing down Harry’s face. “That should be enough.”

Harry peered up at him, a strange look flashing across his eyes. “You never had to waste your Felix Felicis on me. I know how it works, and I know you could’ve turned away from me at any moment before you took me.”

“But I didn’t,” Draco shortly said.

“Yeah, but,” Harry reached forward and grasped Draco’s shoulders loosely, looking up at him almost with expectation, “That was something meant for you.”

“It hardly worked. Perhaps I just don’t deserve luck.”

Taking a step forward, Harry’s bare chest pressed up gently to Draco’s shirt. “Luck isn’t always what it seems. Maybe it wasn’t just me who got lucky that day, maybe you did, too.”

Draco exhaled heavily; since when had he been holding his breath? From the study down the hall, the small clock chimed informing the hour. Stepping out of Harry’s touch, Draco inclined his head hopping it would hide his flush. “I’m late for my meeting with Zabini,” he murmured, hurrying out of the bedroom.

Once in his study down the hall, Draco collapsed against the door breathing heavily. He slid down, cupping his head in his hands. He really was falling for Harry. Not simply the broken-in-need-of-desperate-healing-Harry, but the Harry he once was that was showing through. Draco felt he couldn’t trust himself around him any longer and it was becoming increasingly difficult to interact with him on a professional, or even friendly, level.

It was the first time in years, probably ever, that he wanted to even entertain the thought of developing a relationship with somebody and it just had to be with a damaged Harry Potter. “Of course it does,” he muttered aloud, “Nothing can ever be simple with you.”

From the fireplace, someone cleared their throat. Draco looked over at Blaise who was hiding a snigger behind his smile. “Having a rough go at it today, Malfoy?”

“Sod off,” he muttered, pulling himself off the floor. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

“I have, though I question your need for these texts in the first place. You haven’t found more trouble, have you?” he queried with a hint of worry.

Draco gestured for Blaise to sit at the visitor’s seat before his desk as he summoned them both drinks. “Odgen’s rarest brew, this must be an occasion, then,” he commented as Draco poured the Firewhiskey into two small glasses and nearly tossed all of own drink back. “You do know it’s barely noon. Draco, what’s going on?”

“Harry wants to pursue Fletchley before the Wizengamot.”

“And he should,” Blaise quickly agreed, setting down the texts on the edge of the desk. “You look like that is a bad idea.”

“No, I think it needs to be done. If the Aurors and the Ministry won’t sentence Fletchley, I would have found myself moving back to Azkaban. I am merely concerned that by pursuing Fletchley he will damage the progress he has made,” he half-lied.

“Mate, he’s Harry Potter. If he can make it through the Dark Lord I’m sure a little twat like Fletchley will be no problem,” Blaise assured. But at the furrowed despair he saw in Draco he sighed and leaned forward. “But this, this isn’t about Fletchley, is it?”

Draco glared down at the Firewhiskey in his cup. “Everything is about him. Everything comes back to Fletchley and what he did to Harry.”

A laugh from Blaise echoed in the study. Draco shot a glare at him; how could he be laughing when they were discussing this? “Draco, I lived with you for seven years and you really believe I can’t tell when you’re lying? I may be the only one who can truly say this but, I know you better than that. This isn’t about Fletchley this is about you and Potter. There’s nothing wrong with how you feel about him, it’s hardly surprising at this point in your venture. The Malfoy I know would have thrown him to the Healers at Mungo’s ages ago. But you didn’t because it’s him, right?”

The grip on his glass tightened. Draco didn’t want to talk about this, not with Blaise and especially not when he was so utterly confused by his own thoughts and moralities constantly conflicting one another. “It’s not that simple,” he whispered.

“Ever think that you’re the one who makes it so bloody difficult for yourself?” Blaise quickly stood up before Draco could retaliate and defend himself. “Listen, I’m not here to lecture you about your feelings – or _not_ feelings for Potter. There are your texts and owl if you want to go over his offense.”

Draco merely nodded his appreciation as Blaise stepped back through the fireplace. His thoughts of Harry wouldn’t leave him alone. He should be concentrating on the case, on reading through the legal texts he requested from Blaise. But he couldn’t. Deciding he needed to leave the thick air of his house and temporarily distance himself from Harry, Draco scrawled a quick note and spellotaped it to his study door.

Soon afterwards he found himself on his other property, knocking on a room too large for just one person to be having afternoon tea in by herself. “Mother, you really ought to find yourself a hobby. Or friends,” Draco drawled as he entered the parlour of the Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa turned her book upside down on the desk to hold her page as she stood to greet her son before he gestured at her to stay seated. “Do you mind if I join you, mother?”

“Anytime, Draco. To what does your lonely mother owe this visit? And may I remind you that I am simply too old for the tiresome routine which friendship requires. I am quite content here most days,” she gently reminded him, smiling softly as he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before sitting across from her.

“Content is not quite happy. Perhaps a trip. How long has it been since you were last in France?”

The corner of Narcissa’s mouth twitched as she suppressed her own growing grin. “Too long, dear, and yet not long enough. Perhaps in the New Year. Willow,” Narcissa called and a House Elf Draco had never seen before appeared in the parlour alongside them. Her clothes were made of finer cloth than most House Elves wore and she bowed lowly to Narcissa before turning and bowing to Draco. “Willow, I would like you to meet my son, Draco. Draco, this is Willow.”

“Oh, Mistresses son! Willow is very pleased to meet you, sir! Willow will do anything for kind Mistresses son!” the House Elf squealed.

Draco eyed Willow curiously, as Narcisssa asked “Willow, would you mind bringing us some tea?”

“Do you have something stronger than tea, mother?” Draco asked.

“Tea will do, Willow,” Narcissa reiterated gently. When the House Elf obligingly disappeared, she frowned at her son. “It is still early in the afternoon, son, you cannot be delving into such habits of drinking at this hour. Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just – “ Draco sighed, “It’s work and a little project I have been giving my attentions to. It’s frustrating,” he lied. “I came to breathe a little. My home was beginning to feel a little cramped.”

“You are always welcome here, but drinking at one o’clock in the afternoon is not. Ah, thank you Willow, you may return to your duties,” Narcissa smiled at the House Elf who had reappeared and served them both tea.

“What’s with her, mother? She has clothes and I know you most certainly did not need an extra House Elf.”

Narcissa frowned. “Have you not been reading the papers? Have you not yet received a Ministry visit?” With Draco’s questioning look she continued. “It appears that the new decree of House Elf rights has at last been passed. All House Elves must be given clothes before the first of November or else you risk a heavy fine. Then, all House Elves must be clearly registered to a family at the Ministry and same with the occupants of that family’s home. Furthermore, House Elves are required a minimum wage and holidays.”

“I bet I know who wrote the decree, too,” Draco mumbled to himself. It was just like Granger to go muck something up that didn’t need changing. “So, House Elves are no longer bound if they are given clothes. Why is this Willow still serving you?”

“Most House Elves thirst to serve, Draco, you know that. Willow was given clothes by her family and they abandoned her a few days ago. She came here, seeking employment. A few of my own Elves abandoned myself when they were given clothes. I am certain Cally will not abandon you, you are a fine Master to her.”

“I’m not overly concerned with that,” Draco said honestly. “You said we have to register them along with the residences?”

Narcissa nodded. “Indeed, all living persons at a residence must be properly registered in conjunction with the House Elf. I do believe I read it was to guarantee that the level of abuse towards House Elves decreases as many still wish to serve their former masters. I cannot imagine what your father would say if he were here.”

“I’m sure he’d bribe whatever Ministry official he had to in order to get away with not giving the House Elves clothes,” Draco mumbled. “And the Ministry is actually stopping by?”

“Unless your home is warded against them, yes.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. At least they wouldn’t disturb Harry and he could most likely deal with this new decree and laws at the Ministry himself. The only concerning issue was that he would have to claim that Harry Potter was currently residing at his address. That was a piece of information the Ministry would not let slip by unnoticed.

“Enough about that. As you are here, you should entertain me in a match of chess. Willow is an easy win at the game,” Narcissa teased.

Draco gladly took the subject change and got up to prepare the chess board. He was glad his mother asked very little questions as to his being there. She allowed him to stay the afternoon in the comfort of his old home. The grounds even afforded him the opportunity for a quick fly, which he had not experienced in a long time. His note to Harry explained that he had errands to run and he would be back later that evening so Draco took advantage of the time to clear his head. But with every moment he cleared it, his feelings became more obvious to himself.

At last, it was well past dinner when Draco bade his mother goodbye and stepped back through the fireplace and into his study. The lights were off throughout the house. Harry had gone to sleep without him over the past week but it was still relatively early. Draco made his way through the halls and rooms before getting ready for bed. As he made the last trip to his bedroom, he peered down the hall at the closed bedroom. As quietly as he could, Draco opened the door and peered inside.

Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed, scrawling furiously on a stack of parchment. Draco pushed into the room, approaching him curiously. “What are you doing?”

Startled, Harry paused for a moment in his writing. “You told me if I want to pursue him I have to get all of the events in order. I’m writing everything that I can remember down. I hope it’s enough to at least have him charged.”

“I’m certain it’s enough to have him permanently committed,” Draco assured him, stepping closer. Harry tensed as he did. He never did that anymore, at least not in Draco’s presence. “Is everything alright? If it’s too much for you-“

“It’s not this,” Harry said sharply, “It’s you.”

Draco felt a cold shiver run through him. ‘Me? What did I do?’ “Harry,” he started slowly.

“You know, I thought I understood you but maybe I don’t. We’ve been living together for two months now and…” Harry dragged himself up from his parchments, “Where were you? With Blaise, again?” He sounded accusative and it made Draco instantly angry, defensive.

“My mother. But what would it matter if I were with Blaise?” he snapped.

Harry scoffed and ignored him. “Maybe I was wrong and you never did change. You were always so good at hiding behind a mask, Malfoy.”

“Excuse me?” Draco hissed, his fists balling together at his sides. “Hiding? I have given you fucking nothing if not everything. I’ve never lied to you, not since I found you! I am not the boy I was!”

“Bollocks!” Harry swore, tossing the parchment and quill to the side of the bed. He stood up and met Draco, his eyes flashing with fury. “You are still that boy and you’re a fool to deny it! But just because you’re still him doesn’t mean you haven’t changed, but now I don’t know if you ever did!”

Draco growled. He couldn’t believe the accusations Harry was throwing at him. Maybe this was it. This was as far as they could come together. Draco was indeed a fool to think once Harry was healed that they could get along. They were still Potter and Malfoy. They always would be.

“What have I done between this morning and now?” Draco ground out.

“I thought something was there between us. Something more than just Healer and patient. But I must have been wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco snapped, annoyed.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I was pretty bloody obvious this morning, Malfoy. I thought that maybe you and I – I thought you wanted to kiss me as badly as I wanted to kiss you, alright?” He yelled, turning away to hide his embarrassment he sat himself on the edge of his bed.

Draco felt his reasoning shatter around him. Had he honestly heard what he just did? Slowly, he came to sit on the ever present chair beside Harry’s bed. “Harry…I didn’t know…”

“Would you knowing change anything? Wanting that for myself can’t force you to have feelings for me.”

“Don’t tell me what it is I feel,” Draco whispered. A tentative hand reached out, shaking as it did. Why was he so nervous?

Because this touch, this caress, would be deliberate and it was not without meaning. It had all the meaning in the world. The end of a difficult time for Harry was drawing nearer, a light was brought to the forefront for both men and that was why when Draco reached forward, yearning for Harry’s welcoming skin, he shook.

Palm against cheek, Harry did not flinch but sighed into the touch, turning his face towards Draco’s hand. With his dry lips, he left a chaste kiss on the inside of his hand. Then another. And another. Each kiss became more purposeful, less fearful, and soon Harry closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of Draco on his lips.

Bringing his hands to cradle Draco’s, he turned the palm over and continued his tirade of kisses. Draco shivered as his lips did not stop at his hand. They continued, pausing only for a moment, up onto his wrist, the back of his forearm and… “Don’t, I hate seeing it,” Draco tried to pull his arm back, Harry had been about to turn it upwards.

The man held Draco with a surprisingly strong grip and turned it over against his will. “I like every part of you. It is all you and it is all everything I want, Draco. Including this,” Harry verified, his mouth falling down on the Dark Mark. He lingered there longer, as if he were kissing the wound of an injured child. Draco was enraptured, his eyes wide and glazed with surprise, appreciation, and growing desire. It may have been Harry who had firstly believed he was not worthy of being healed, of the care Draco had given him over the past months, but in reality Draco felt it more himself than he had ever realised. He didn’t deserve Harry, not after what he had been through and not in this capacity.

But there was Harry, his Harry, tracing invisible maps up his arm until his sleeve would not roll up anymore. Harry pulled back, his eyes peeling open and Draco nearly gasped at what he saw there. He was too used to seeing a ghost of a man, not the sight which resembled the determined boy back in school, shining up at him. “Kiss me,” Harry demanded softly.

There was no part of Draco that wanted to deny the request, and as he leaned forward his own insecurities and inadequacies lay forgotten. With gentle care, he pressed his thin lips to Harry’s, fluttering his eyes shut. He tasted like spearmint, perhaps toothpaste. Whatever it was, it lingered on Harry’s lips and Draco savoured it. Unwilling to move, as if it would break the spell Draco assumed Harry must be under, the blond sat still, his mouth unmoving, waiting for silent instruction.

Harry sighed again, though this time disconcertedly. Withdrawing from Draco, his head hung, that unruly raven fringe covering his eyes. Concerned he had done wrong, Draco grew worrisome. “What is it? Did I make a mistake?”

“Yes and no,” Harry admitted, slowly looking up till he met Draco. “I want you to kiss me as if…as if I wasn’t broken,” he whispered.

Draco opened and closed his mouth. What could he say to that? He was purposefully treating him gently, unwilling to make a move, for fear he _was_ broken still or would break once more. Today was the most emotion he had ever seen from Harry since he found him. He saw hot, flaring anger and he had seen passion and determination. This was a whole new Harry that Draco had helped bring back and he wanted to ensure he never went away again.

“You’re not broken,” Draco hissed at last and with resolve grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pulled him towards him. The man nearly toppled off his chair and a surprised squeak was muffled by Draco’s mouth devouring Harry’s.

‘He’s not broken, not anymore. He is simply Harry and I will show him that I know that.’

Draco ran his tongue on Harry’s lower lip, altering from nervous to desperate to taste him. Harry shuddered against Draco at the feeling and eased his lips apart, allowing the other inside. Draco kissed Harry heatedly and with abandon. A groan had built in the bowels of his chest and rumbled out into Harry’s throat from his own. Draco didn’t want this to end. How hard Harry’s mouth felt on his own, and how the raven-haired man’s hands were reaching out for him, roaming against his chest…he didn’t want it to end but Harry pulled away, flushed and breathing hard.

“Merlin,” Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.

The urge to kiss Harry again was overwhelming, so much so that Draco could feel the need pulsating under his skin as if it were his heartbeat. With great restrain, Draco let his hands fall to the sides of his chair where he gripped it, his grey eyes narrowed as they skirted over Harry. Draco was ashamed it had taken him so long to have noticed how beautiful the man before him could be.

“Was that alright, Harry?” Draco asked through clenched teeth – it was even more difficult now to resist him once he had tasted him. It was also the startling knowledge that he had not been with another man in a long time that made matters much worse.  

Harry laughed tightly. “Alright? It was bloody brilliant, Draco, I just…I just need to go slowly, but…I want to be here with you,” he blushed, the admittance of his words felt like a pleasant weight on Draco’s chest. Harry _wants_ to be here. With him. Draco felt privileged.

Leaning forward, Draco placed a hand over top of Harry’s which was lying absently on his knee. “As slowly as you need,” he reassured, “There is nowhere else I would rather be.”

A smile crept up Harry’s face all the way up to his eyes. Draco was mesmerized. He had never seen Harry Potter smile quite like that.

Privileged wasn’t the right word anymore. With Harry looking at him, so shamelessly happy, Draco felt sickeningly in love. Paling, Draco abruptly stood and shook the thought from his head. “If it’s all the same to you, Harry, I am exhausted from my errands earlier today. Do you have everything you need?”

Almost with a knowing, lazy smirk, Harry nodded as he moved to settle into his bed, retrieving his quill and paper again. “Absolutely everything. G’night Draco. And thank you, again, for this,” he brought his free hand to his lower waist, gesturing at the healed scar, “You really are a brilliant with potions to be able to do this for me.”

Draco inclined his head, attempting to swallow his blush. How could the damned Golden Boy make him do that so easily now? “Right, well it was an interesting concoction to discover, I’m sure others will benefit from it at the hospital. If you need anything, call for Cally or you know where to find me. Goodnight, Harry,” he said and quickly stepped outside of his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Once in the privacy of the corridor, Draco slouched against the wall and exhaled a trap burst of breath. Closing his eyes, Draco lay his head back against the wall, suddenly aware of how hard his heart was thumping in his chest. He could still feel Harry’s lips travelling up his arm, could still see that determined lust in his eyes, and Draco still did not know whether or not he wanted to embrace that feeling or run away from it altogether.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The next morning Draco awoke to the growing scent of ham. Baffled, as Cally never prepared meals without his request, he hurriedly pulled his robe around himself, grabbed his wand and descended down to the kitchen. The sight before him stilled Draco at the doorway where he watched Harry huddling over his stove, quietly working away at preparing breakfast. The set table for two caused a smile to draw itself upon Draco’s lips.

“Having an early morning?” Draco drawled after a moment.

Harry startled at his voice and quickly turned around to meet him, knocking a carton of eggs off the counter as he did. They fell to the floor, quietly cracking. “Dammit,” Harry swore, lowering himself to the ground and yanking a cloth off the edge of the sink as he did. “You surprised me, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he began to apologise.

“Don’t worry about it, and allow me,” he instructed gently, pointing his wand at the mess and levitating the broken eggs to the trash. “ _Scourgify_ ,” Draco finished tidying up the mess as Harry turned back to the stove.

“There were half a dozen eggs left, I’m really sorry-“

“For unknowingly dropping my eggs?” Draco teased, “What’s all of this about anyway? Cally has specific instructions to obey you as well, Harry, she would hardly mind preparing breakfast for you.”

“I know, but I wanted to do something for you. After last night, well, after everything…I really don’t mind cooking, either,” he admitted.

Unwilling to complain about how unnecessary it was, and also unwilling to admit openly that he quite enjoyed the prospect of Harry Potter in his kitchen making his breakfast, Draco fixed them both cuppas before settling down at the table. “Speaking of Cally, I was informed by my mother yesterday that House Elves must be freed, paid wages if they continue to work, and be registered to the home.”

Harry smirked over his shoulder, “Good for Hermione, then.”

“Yes, only Granger could have accomplished such an atrocity against House Elves. Not that it really matters. Mother has found herself a handful of House Elves willing to continue working despite being given clothes and I am certain Cally would prefer to stay here.”

“Weasley. She’s not a Granger anymore,” Harry corrected.

Draco absently ran his fingers along the rim of his cuppa as he watched the back of Harry work, admiring the ease with which he moved about the kitchen. He still favoured his left side, but otherwise looking at him Draco was seeing a whole new man from the one he had seen two months ago. “She will always remain Granger to me.” Waiting until Harry plated their breakfasts and sat down at the table, Draco continued on the matter of the new House Elf laws. “Registering House Elves is not as simple as claiming one as an employee to one master. As you know, most House Elves serve homes and families, not just one individual. The Ministry wants to closely monitor everybody within the home of where the House Elf works, for legality’s sake. They wish to have all those within the residences named and registered as the House Elves’ employers. This would mean, if Cally were to remain here, you would have to be registered. The Ministry will be conducting thorough checks on homes to ensure they are following the law…I would hate to ask this of you, Harry, but if you wish to remain, which you are more than welcome to, then when I go to the Ministry later this week to register Cally, I will also have to register you as a member of this house. This would then become public information as you cannot own a House Elf privately any longer, they would be considered civil servants just as the goblins at Gringotts are,” Draco explained, exhaling heavily afterwards.

Sitting back in his chair, Harry gripped his cuppa within both of his hands, turning it in his palms and relishing the warmth of it. “I understand…but if I’m going to come back to everything…I want to see Hermione and Ron first,” he said resolutely.

“After what they did to you?”

“They didn’t do anything to me,” Harry quickly said. His tone was sharp, almost defensive, and it made Draco ire.

“They are the reason for what happened to you!” he said, unknowingly raising his voice as he spoke.

Slamming his fists on the table, Draco jumped back in his chair slightly – surprised at how quickly Harry turned to anger. He was seeing more of the old Harry resurface. His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke. “Justin is the reason for what happened to me. It is not their faults,” he spat.

Reeling in his emotions on the situation, Draco reminded himself that Harry was not his to dictate to, despite desperately wanting to. “If you truly want to see them, allow me to arrange a meeting here. I was considering asking Granger for the favour of keeping my registry with Cally away from public eye,” he conceded, which was half-true. He had entertained the idea but knew Granger would be disinclined to help him. On the other hand, if he was going to present her with Harry Potter, Draco was certain she would do what she could to keep his whereabouts private.

“Thank you,” Harry said tightly, the tension still thick between them as they both settled down, staring at their breakfasts.

Looking between their food, Draco noted he was the only one to have eggs on his plate. He sighed and shoveled one of his eggs onto Harry’s plate, who proceeded to eye Draco curiously. “You can’t expect me to sit here and eat your food without you having a proper breakfast, how rude do you think I am, Potter?” Draco drawled, stabbing his remaining eggs indignantly with his fork.

The slip of his last name, for the first time, did not cause Harry to wince as he smiled. “Clearly not as rude as I once believed, Draco. So…where do you plan on taking me today?”

The prospect of buying Harry a new wardrobe distracted Draco from any lingering negativity. Harry silently ate his breakfast as he listened to Draco excitedly talk about Muggle vendors he had seen whilst in the small hamlet they had visited before.

As soon as they later apparated to the village, Harry did not let go of Draco and instead allowed his hand to slip down into his as he entwined their fingers. Draco squeezed the digits tightly for a moment before allowing their hands to rest together. It was unlike the first time they had visited the village for Draco held onto Harry for comfort – for support. This time, Harry held onto Draco because he wanted to. Since their shared kiss just the night before Draco was desperate to discover what they were but unwilling to ask, fearing he would cause Harry to feel trapped or even obligated.

They moved with ease through the town and Draco noted how impressed he was with Harry’s progress. He really was a resilient individual, though he never doubted this fact before. By the time afternoon dawned on them, Harry was exhausted from trying on so many different items and begged Draco to return home. “We still have to fly today, too,” Harry reminded him, hoping they had enough energy left to do so together.

Once back in Draco’s home, Harry stilled at the doorway and turned with a slight grin. “We forgot to get eggs.”

Draco smirked in return. “Eggs can wait. I want to see you out of my clothes and on my broom before I’m too knackered to care,” he drawled but then immediately regretted his words. “Damn, I didn’t mean for that to sound how it did,” he amended.

Harry, despite a new redness kindling on his cheeks, smiled brighter at Draco in a way that unnerved him, “Whichever way you meant it, both are fine. I’ll be down in a minute…have the brooms ready. Er, the ones that fly for now, if you don’t mind,” he joked before disappearing upstairs.

* * *

“Oi! Malfoy!”

“Zabini, if you could kindly lower your tone to that of a normal decibel…” Draco drawled as he snapped his work locker shut. It was the end of a particularly long shift and Draco longed for nothing more than to return home, where Harry would undoubtedly be preparing dinner in the kitchen again. Draco had attempted multiple times to persuade him against it, but Harry insisted, convincing Draco that he enjoyed the act.

“Sorry, mate, I thought I was going to miss you. Bane has been asking around about you again,” he commented slyly.

“You better have told him to bugger off,” Draco mumbled. He wanted nothing more to do with that man.

Blaise shrugged. “I have no reason to, other than the fact you’re a regular prat but I’m sure he’s already aware of that-“

Draco sighed. “What do you want, Blaise? I would much rather not be here when I am not being paid to,” he said pointedly, edging towards the door. Blaise skipped along and followed, his hands now in his pocket.

“What do I want? Oh, nothing, besides perhaps a little honesty from a friend,” he said seriously. “You’ve been more cheerful this week than usual.”

Turning sidelong, Draco spoke in a deadpanned voice. “You call this cheerful?”

“More than usual. Does it have something to do with your housemate?”

Needing to run a particular errand before heading home, Draco wanted desperately to shake Blaise as quickly as he could. “Perhaps it does, but I hardly see how our relationship is any of your business.”

Blaise grinned broadly. “Oh, so there’s a relationship now is there?” he teased.

Draco rolled his eyes exasperatedly, muttering over his shoulder at Blaise before leaving him to depart through one the employee’s floo exits. “You desperately need to find better things to do with your time than pester me, Zabini.” But even as Draco turned to step through the floo network, Blaise was looking triumphantly after his friend.

Stumbling through the other end of the floo, Draco immediately straightened himself, fixing his work robes. Immediately he was greeted by a woman sitting not far away in the visitors’ entrance at the atrium’s desk in the Ministry of Magic. “State your name and business,” she said.

“Draco Malfoy, here to see Miss Hermione Gran- Weasley in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

The witch behind the desk gave him an oddly strained look, pursing her lips, before calling him forward to affix a visitor’s badge to his robes. Draco declined the offer of being led to Granger as he brought himself up to familiar grounds again. It was not nearly as crowded as the last time he paid the witch a visit, for that he was grateful. Yet, once again her nose was buried deeply within a book alongside her hand which quickly scrawled on a lengthy scroll of parchment.

“Granger,” he greeted coolly, careful to keep any of his lingering disagreeable emotions for the Muggleborn out of his voice.

Hermione startled and nearly knocked her ink bottle over, catching it at the last moment. She looked frazzled already from the work she was pouring over but Draco’s presence intensified that. “M-Malfoy! I was looking for you!” she exclaimed, far too excited to see him. Draco grimaced, unnerved by her tone and half-smile that even grew on her face.

“I heard. However, in the future please refrain from pestering my friends with such trivialities.”

Frowning now, Hermione conjured a chair anyway and invited him to sit. Draco peered around the room. Though a few lingering individuals looked their way, it appeared relatively safe to speak with her. Hermione was already withdrawing her wand, casting a silencing charm around them. When Draco looked at her questioningly, she shrugged, “I figured whatever brought you here would be something you wish not to discuss in public.”

“How very astute of you,” said Draco as he took the offered seat, “What was it you wished to see me for?”

“Oh, you actually came because I was looking for you?” she returned incredulously.

Draco scowled. “Of course not, I am no Crup that comes at your beck and call. I have an offer to extend to you and your –“ refraining from using the word Weasel, Draco waved his hand lazily between them, “ _husband_.”

“An offer?” Hermione repeated, as if the term were foreign to her ears.

“I would like to speak with you and your husband. On my terms, however, in my home. You are both welcome, but for now your children are not. This is a subject matter I prefer to keep quiet.”

“You want…Ronald and I to come to _your_ house? Why would we ever do such a thing?”

Draco dropped his voice, despite there being a silencing charm he didn’t want to risk being heard. “Because you and I have a particular interest in the same individual, and I have some information you may wish to hear regarding him.”

Hermione went blank. “H-Harry? What do you know? Do you know where he is?” she asked frantically.

Draco shook his head and then looked around the room once more. “Tomorrow evening, seven o’clock. I will owl you the location of my home. You will have to apparate. I have to warn you, that if your husband does anything untoward, you will regret having come in the first place,” he warned.

“Of course, we are grown up enough to understand the laws of civility, Malfoy,” she returned icily, offended that he thought they would treat a host in any negative manner.

“Before I leave, as I desperately wish to be out of your company, what did you want to see me for?”

Hermione shot him a scowl before lessening it. “It was strange. Not a day after you came here asking about Harry, Justin Finch-Fletchley sent me a letter.”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath and leaned forward, clenching his fists on the top of her neatly cluttered desk. “About what? About Ha-Potter? Does he know where he is?”

“No…” she eyed Draco strangely before continuing. “He went on to explain that he didn’t care for our differences over the years but that he and Harry had fallen out. Justin doesn’t know where he has got to and he asked me if I had seen him. I never responded because there was no point to, really, since I haven’t seen word of Harry for years,” she explained.

“Fallen out alright,” Draco muttered to himself, ignoring the strange glances the Muggleborn was casting him. “Tomorrow, can I expect to see both you and your husband?”

“Undoubtedly.”

When Draco arrived home that evening, he was immediately assaulted. Harry was waiting for him in the kitchen and when Draco entered, depositing his top work robe onto the nearest chair, Harry was on him. Pushing his back up against the doorway, Draco nearly toppled over but quickly righted himself. Harry’s hands were grasping his upper arms lightly, holding him in place as his mouth drew Draco’s down onto his. Harry kissed him feverishly, his tongue pushing through Draco’s open and confused lips.

It took a few moments before Draco was able to assess what was happening and he eventually melted into the other man. Relaxing, he drew his arms around Harry and kissed him back. Harry withdrew from Draco’s lips after a moment but he didn’t stop kissing him. Continuing down from his mouth, Harry led a trail down Draco’s jawline, his neck…

Draco hissed as Harry reached a particularly sensitive spot and pushed him slightly away. “Harry,” he whispered, his voice heavier than he thought it would be.

Harry flushed and withdrew, awkwardly adjusting himself as he did. “I’ve been thinking about doing that all day,” he admitted.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the admittance. “I’m glad I’m on your mind,” he took his seat at the table, with what was now the familiar scene of the two place settings being ready, their dinners still hot. Draco picked up his utensils and began to dive into what appeared to be Bolognese, “If you were wondering, you’re always on mine, too,” he said just loudly enough for Harry to hear.

Harry beamed. “Good.”

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this? There is still time to cancel,” Draco assured as he glanced at the clock once more. Perhaps that was a lie. But he could figure out some way to keep the Weasel and Granger away.

“Of course I’m sure,” Harry said quickly. “Whatever happened was years ago. I’m not mad at them. I miss them, they’re my friends…they’re like my family,” he corrected himself. “Besides, if you’re here it will be fine.”

“Speaking of which, in what capacity would you like me to be here for you?”

“I have nothing to hide from them,” Harry resolved, standing up from his seat on the Chesterfield and approaching Draco who was currently at his desk mulling over some of the texts Blaise had left a week prior. Harry pushed Draco back from the desk slightly to allow himself room to wiggle in between him and the books. Harry sat on the edge of the desk, leaning down low enough so that their lips could almost meet. He was smiling that blinding Potter smile at Draco again, and despite hoping to have built up an immunity to it, Draco smiled in return. “I like having you stand by me,” Harry affirmed.

“Until you wish it, I won’t be going anywhere else,” Draco assured him, craning his neck upwards to capture Harry’s lips in a chaste kiss.

Harry maneuvered himself down from the desk and onto Draco’s lap, straddling him. His movements, his kisses, they were all becoming increasingly bold. Draco was certainly surprised and thankful for his progress. Draco was also impressed with his own restraint, though how much longer he could hold onto it he was unsure. It certainly did not help that his wayward dreams of Harry had returned.

Rolling his hips into Draco, the blond dug his nails into his desk which he was still holding onto. Yes, he was certain that his restraint could not last much longer. “You know,” Harry muttered into his ear, his lips ghosting Draco’s skin, “You don’t have to hold yourself back,” he said as if performing legilimency.

Shivering, Draco resisted the urge once more to grapple onto Harry and devour him. It didn’t help that all the work he continued to do in the back garden was continuing to tone his body which felt heavy and _right_ pressing down against him. “I want to take it slowly. I want to follow your lead,” Draco explained through clenched teeth. It really didn’t help that Harry was doing something absolutely wonderful with his hips that Draco was desperately attempting to ignore.

“Why? I trust you,” Harry responded surely.

“I don’t want you to ever believe that I’m using you. That I have any ill intent. I want you to know that everything I may do with you physically, is because of something I _feel_ ,” Draco elucidated.

“I know. You’re not him. I’m not completely damaged, here. I’m a grown man. If you ever do something I don’t like, I promise to tell you and I know that you will stop. Please, stop treating me with such fragility,” Harry nearly begged and for effect he rolled his hips once more.

Draco caved as his hands released his desk and instead latched onto Harry’s hips, perhaps a bit too hard as the man on top of him yelped in  surprise. When Draco leaned forward it was Harry’s neck he captured, not his lips. He started along his collarbone and savoured the taste of Harry’s skin, the feeling of it against his mouth. Harry groaned and bucked downwards onto Draco, his hands weaving themselves into his platinum hair as he pushed Draco’s face closer into him, as if asking for more. Draco obliged as he began to devour him rigorously, licking and kissing every patch of available skin within his reach.

A sudden, shrill sound through the house alerted Draco that the doorbell had rung and their guests had arrived. Harry, gasping for air, pulled back with a husky smile. “Bugger, it was just getting good.”

Draco half-grinned as the prospect of Granger and Wealsey in his home automatically diminished any mood that may have been transpiring between them. “Do you want me to bring you a cuppa? When I return?”

“Er, no. I think a stiffer drink will do, though,” Harry said, sliding off the desk now as he gestured towards Draco’s drink cart at the other end of the study. “You’re going to tell them just what we practiced, right?”

Nodding, Draco rolled up the sleeves to his long, buttoned blouse. He was wearing grey slacks and a white shirt. Harry wore black slacks and a grey shirt; ever since their outing he had been relishing the clothes Draco had picked out for him. Together, Draco imagined they would be a strange sight for the Weasleys to endure. “Of course. It will probably be a while before we return. Read a book, silence the room if you must, but whatever you may hear…perhaps it is best you remain here until I bring them up,” Draco advised.

Harry was nervous now, all reminisces of his earlier desire erased as he bit his lower lip. Draco kissed his cheek and squeezed his shoulder gently. “I will be here, you will be fine. I promise,” he said before disappearing from the room.

Out in the corridor was another story. Draco Malfoy faltered. He was perhaps less prepared for this than Harry was. He was uncomfortable with the idea of his friends returning to his life, uncomfortable with the prospect that they brought of Harry outing himself in their world once more, that following this meeting they would be pursuing Fletchley, and most of all Draco did not know if he would be able to supress his anger regarding the Weasleys enough.

Readying himself, Draco went downstairs to greet their guests just as they rang the doorbell a second time. When he opened, he was greeted with Granger’s unorthodox smile and her handing him a basket with what smelled like baked goods. “Thank you for inviting us over, Malfoy. May I call you Draco?”

Draco resisted the urge to scowl. “Whatever pleases you,” he drawled. “Weasley and…Weasley,” he frowned, certainly that wouldn’t do when both of them were in the room. Draco sighed. For civilities sake, for Harry, he extended his free hand. “Hermione and Ron,” he corrected, shaking them both. Ron appeared a much more skeptical counterpart of his wife. He seemed largely as Draco had remembered him, but thinner and with a semblance of a beard trailing his round face.

“Malfoy, what’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

Biting his lip, Draco addressed Hermione. She was safer to interact with. She was also sending her husband a disapproving glare for his question for which Draco was thankful. “Would either of you like tea? Coffee? Wine, Hermione?” he offered. This was going to be a long night, and for Harry, Draco wanted it to go as smoothly as possible.

“That depends,” Hermione said a little too loudly as she followed Draco into his home, clearly cutting off something her husband was going to say, “Will the wine be necessary?”

“Red or white?”

“Do you have any cabernet? I was never a fan of merlot. My mother always tells me I will get used to it with time but – “

“Are we really going to stand here and bloody discuss wine?” Ron snapped.

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed.

“What? This whole thing is bloody ridiculous! What do you want, Malfoy? Cut to the chase! If it’s anything remotely involving you I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Draco ignored him as he poured three full glasses of cabernet, taking the head seat at the table as Hermione sat down on one side of him. “And if it involves your beloved Golden Boy?”

Ron stilled, his face turning white. “She wasn’t lying. You know something about where he is? Have you seen him?” he asked, uncaring now that it was Malfoy’s house he was sitting in as he flopped down beside Hermione and took the offered wine.

“It is all a rather long story and I do hope you remain attentive as it is a story I don’t wish to repeat more than once. If you have any questions, bear with me until the end…” Draco warned, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a large gulp.

“Please,” Hermione said softly, “Tell us everything you know.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

“It’s all our faults,” Hermione muttered, her hands in her head. Draco felt pleased. She actually appeared distraught. She deserved to feel worse, in his opinion.

“How do we even know if he’s telling the truth? Quite the story! Leave it to Malfoy to make it up!” Ron spat venomously.

Ignoring her husband, Hermione looked up at Draco with a desperation in her eyes. It unnerved and disgusted him. “If we hadn’t left him…this would have never happened. I-I can’t believe – I can’t believe any of it!” she finished shrilly, sniffling. Hermione’s tears had been falling openly since Draco had begun his story.

“What reason would I have to fabricate such a story?” Draco addressed the redhead’s accusation.

Ron grimaced. “Publicity,” he muttered after a minute, blushing as he realised how ridiculous that sounded. Ron’s face fell as he placed a comforting arm around his wife. “You told us what happened to Harry before you found him and that you did find him but…where is he now? Is he okay?”

“Yes, I would say he is more than okay,” Draco said assuredly. “He has requested I bring you both to him but there are some guidelines that absolutely must be adhered to,” he leaned forward on the table, drawing up the most menacing glare he could, “If you overstep yourselves I will make you wish I had never been let out of Azkaban.”

Hermione recoiled at Draco’s harsh tone but quickly nodded. “Of course, anything!”

“Would you hurry along and tell us what the bloody hell is going on? If you know where Harry is just tell us, Malfoy! He’s _our_ friend!” Ron’s voice was rising again and Draco shot him an icy glare, he disliked the sound of possessiveness.

“He isn’t your anything,” Draco corrected coldly. “When you see him you must not touch him. Any attempt at touching him will quickly result in the loss of your hands. Unless, of course, he touches you first. Refrain from using his surname, Fletchley would only refer to him by it. And,” Draco stood now, his hands pressing down on the table as he leaned over the couple, “If you do anything to hurt him or the progress he has made I will personally see to it that neither of you ever sees the outside of my home again.” Draco leaned off his table now, pleased with the look of horror on both of the Weasleys’ faces. “This way then,” he instructed.

Hermione and Ron both jumped up from the table. “Just so you know,” Ron began as they started up the stairs, “I have my wand drawn and I am a fully trained Auror, Malfoy. If you try anything funny-“

Draco shot another glare over his shoulder just before he opened the door to his study at the top of his stairs, “If you value your life or your friendship with Harry, you will put that wand away this instant,” Draco snapped, smirking as Ron grumbled but conceded. Instead of opening the door immediately, Draco gave a precursory knock to warn Harry of their arrival.

From inside, Harry called out for them to enter. Hermione and Ron both stiffened at the sound of his voice. Draco led them into the room, jamming the door open, but neither of them seemed to move from the threshold. The sound of his voice and the view of Harry standing there, between the fireplace and the sofa was too surreal for them to take all at once. Without hesitation, Draco came to stand before Harry, slightly blocking his view of his friends. “You’ll be okay,” Draco reassured him quietly, briefly squeezing his hands before stepping aside and busying himself with the drink carts. Certainly wine would not be enough for him to get through this meeting, and he wanted to give the old friends space without leaving Harry at the same time.

Settling down at his desk with a glass of firewhiskey, Draco watched as a keen observer, ready at any moment to jump to Harry’s aid. “Hermione, Ron,” Harry said softly at last. His words broke their stillness as they moved into the room. Hermione made her way towards him, but within a foot, Harry flinched and took a step backwards, putting his hands up gently before gesturing to the sofa. “D-do you want a drink?” he offered shakily.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered at last. “I can’t believe it’s…was everything Draco said the truth?” she asked, her face turning a sickly colour.

Harry bit his lip and slowly nodded but quickly cut off any pity remarks he was about to receive. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it. That’s why I wanted him to tell you, so I wouldn’t have to…you’ll hear me talk about it soon enough,” he admitted.

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione’s tone was gentle, as if she were afraid that if she spoke too loudly he would shatter. Draco could see on Harry’s face that he disliked it.

“Draco?” Harry asked. His voice was shaking slightly and Draco had ever urge to close the distance between them. To offer Harry his hand to hold. But Draco knew he was strong, that he was just nervous and perhaps having difficulties using as many words as were necessary.

“We – Harry,” Draco corrected, “Is going to charge Fletchley with all of the crimes which he can be held accountable for. We have been preparing Harry’s testimony.”

“Good,” Ron said firmly. “That bastard Fletchley, I can’t bloody believe it! What a sodding-“

“Please,” Harry said softly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he reiterated.

Ron seethed but nodded, relaxing the best he could into the Chesterfield.

“Where have you been since Draco found you? It’s been months, if what he tells us was correct. Were you at St. Mungo’s the entire time?” Hermione asked gently, she was clearly attempting not to let too many questions tumble out on top of one another.

“How were you able to escape the Prophet if you were there?” Ron questioned incredulously.

Shaking his head, Harry fleeted a glance over at Draco once more who merely nodded his head from his spot at the desk before returning his attention back to his drink. “Other than a few trips to a remote Muggle village, I’ve been here the entire time.”

Ron suddenly stood up from the sofa, turning towards Draco with a look of surprise and suspicion. “You’ve been with him the entire time?”

“How is that so difficult to believe, Weasley?” Draco returned bitterly. This was his house, this was Harry, and Ron had the gall to talk to him like that – accusatorily.

“Harry, I know you’ve been through a lot, mate, but you do know Malfoy’s a convicted Death Eater!”

“Was,” Harry corrected quietly, his head was hanging now, his fringe covering his features.

“You can’t erase the Dark Mark! I bloody well can see the thing from here!” Ron jabbed a finger in Draco’s direction.

Draco was about to snap a reply before he looked down. His Dark Mark was showing, which was rare for him to do, even though Harry had earlier suggested that he be less ashamed of it. That shame came crawling up on him again and Draco reached for his sleeve but was stilled by Harry. “Don’t you dare cover it,” he hissed across the room. Withdrawing his hand from his sleeve, Draco shot another glare at Ron instead but allowed Harry to continue speaking.

“Draco healed me. I was in pretty rough shape and he sacrificed a lot,” Harry was interrupted by a huff from the blond, “You did sacrifice a lot,” he reiterated. “He spent weeks developing a potion that didn’t even exist to help cure me. Twice. Please, if you want to be here…Draco deserves all the appreciation in the world for me being here right now. For me being able to see the both of you,” Harry said seriously, with admiration as he glanced back at Draco, a small smile growing.

“And we are forever grateful, Draco,” Hermione said, her hand grasping Ron and yanking him back onto the Chesterfield. “Harry, oh, I’m just so glad you’re alright,” she said, holding back the urge to let her tears resurface. “No matter what, no matter who you are, we are here for you forever. I can’t believe we let something so petty get between us. Nothing is worth our friendship, Harry. Never again will we make that mistake, I promise. We missed you so much.”

“Mate, we were bloody selfish. There wasn’t a day we didn’t miss you,” Ron admitted.

Harry’s smile grew and watching him direct it at his friends irked Draco. “I missed you both, too, more than anything.”

“I don’t know if you ever can-“

“We hope you can forgive us, Harry,” Ron finished for his wife, grasping her hand in his lap and looking hopefully at their old friend. “We’ve been mates for thirteen years, do you think you could begin to forgive us?”

“I already do forgive you. It was years ago and after everything that happened…I just want you both back in my life. And my godchildren,” he added pointedly to which Hermione let out a full force of tears. Harry smiled sympathetically at Ron who was also on the verge of tears himself but instead grinned.

“Great, mate, now you’ve done it I won’t be able to shut her up for the next four hours,” he teased, quickly dodging Hermione’s swat to his shoulder. Harry laughed at his friends.

The scene before him both made Draco glad and incredibly angry all at once. He was watching, wondering which emotion would overcome him. He was happy that Harry had more support than himself and Blaise but incredibly peeved that Hermione and Ron got off that easily. To Draco, it truly was their fault that Harry had endured all that he did. They had abandoned him. They made it possible for him to disappear without a trace. It was their fault Draco had to discover Harry in the way that he did.

Draco suddenly stood from his desk, slamming his glass down as he did so hard that it shattered. The remaining firewhiskey sprayed across Blaise’s texts on his desk. Despite a stinging pain in his hand which informed Draco that a shard of glass nestled itself into his palm, and disregarding Hermione’s squeal of surprise, Draco rounded on the couple.

“You bloody Gryffindors think you can come in here after nearly three years and everything be alright?” he yelled. “He may not be bold enough to say it but you were right, it is your bloody faults that Harry was in the situation he was in! It was you who left him to be hurt the way he was!”

Before Hermione or Ron could interject, Harry was rising from the armchair. “Hey! You can’t blame them for somebody else’s actions!”

Suppressing his anger for Harry himself, not wishing to direct it at him, Draco ignored his words and continued to round on Ron and Hermione. “True friends would have stayed by his side, no matter who he was with! They wouldn’t have been ashamed simply because he was in a relationship with somebody they didn’t approve of – for all the wrong reasons!”

“Malfoy!” Harry screamed. “If you’re mad at my decision to forgive them, then get mad at me! Be real, Draco, I don’t want you holding things from me because you think I can’t take it! If you have done anything for me it is show me that I can take it!”

“Fine! I’m pissed, alright?” Draco returned, his grey eyes finally piercing daggers at Harry’s direction.

Harry did not falter. “You’re unbelievable, you were the one who suggested they come over here!”

“Yes, but they don’t deserve you to forgive them! They abandoned you! They don’t deserve you after everything they’ve done!” he spat, now it was he pointing the accusatory finger at Ron. The couple sat on the couch, one outraged and being held by his surprise stricken wife.

Lowering his voice, clenching his fists at his sides, Harry was – to Draco’s surprise – unafraid of his lash of anger. Instead, he seemed empowered by it. “If they don’t deserve me than neither do you,” he whispered.

Draco’s mouth fell open and then shut again. Hurt immediately spread through him. Did Harry truly mean that? Unable to formulate a response to that, Harry continued. “After Hogwarts, after you fought against me to _kill_ me…if you gained my trust and my forgiveness, why can’t they? You and I have been through a lot over the past few months, but Ron, Hermione, and I have been through much more. They’ve never not been my best friends. They’re my family.”

“No. Family dies for you, they don’t leave you to die. No matter what you do, who you decide to be with, true family never abandons you. I sacrificed my life for my family, yours sacrificed theirs for you, this,” Draco spat, pointing once again at Ron and Hermione, “Is not a true family.”

Harry stood his ground, still unwavering as he crossed his arms. “They are. And they are the only family I choose to have.”

Draco growled somewhere in the depths of his throat. It offended him. It sounded as if Harry was choosing Ron and Hermione over him, but Draco couldn’t have expected anything otherwise. What did he expect, reuniting them as he was doing? In fear of what his mouth would sputter next, Draco started towards the fireplace and took from the mantle a handful of Floo powder. At the gesture of Draco leaving, Harry softened and begun to frown. “Draco, this is your house. If anyone should leave-“

“No. I have errands to attend to anyway. This is your house, too,” Draco tried to remain monotone as he threw the powder on the ground and whispered his destination, disappearing in a flash of green flames.

“Bloody hell, send a warning next time, would you?” Came the immediate response from Draco’s sudden arrival in Blaise Zabini’s private study. It appeared he had been entertaining a guest. Two, in particular. Both females. Thankfully, for all of them, they were all fully clothed. Draco ignored their presence and started straight for Blaise’s corridor. He kept his liquor in the kitchen and Draco desperately needed to quench a particular thirst.

Blaise quickly followed him out into the corridor, bounding after him two steps at a time. “Draco! Oi, what the bloody hell happened to you?”

“Everything,” he muttered disdainfully.

“Quit being so melodramatic,” he exasperated.

Draco rounded on his friend, startling Blaise with the intense scowl that met him. “I’m bloody in love with Harry Potter and he won’t stop kissing me and at the same time we’re about to sue his psychotic ex-boyfriend and his two Gryffindork friends are sitting in my study – the two very reasons Harry went through what he did – and he’s forgiving them. And I yelled at him. I bloody yelled at Harry. Fuck! He’s never going to forgive me and he’s going to choose them over-“

“Woah, slow down there, Draco!” Blaise interrupted. He pulled out a chair. “Sit. Breathe. And then talk. Start with that particular bit about being in love with Harry Potter, if you don’t mind.”

* * *

The foul mood that settled on Draco was for a multitude of reasons. Not only when he returned home that evening were the Weasleys still present, but he had it drilled into him by Blaise that he was being a fool. And he certainly felt like a fool. Confronting his feelings for Harry was one thing, but accepting them was quite another. Draco understood that most of his anger towards the Weasleys was because he felt he should keep Harry to himself – unjustifiably. He was terrified that Harry would remember who Draco used to be and revert to hating him. Draco was certain it would happen over time, and perhaps it still could, but by what Harry had said to him, the Boy Who Lived never forgot about Draco’s past misdeeds yet had still pursued him. It gave Draco a glimmer of hope.

Yet, returning with his head held high was a difficult task when he was returning to apologise to Weasleys. The small party had moved from the study as Draco first landed there, but they weren’t far. Following the soft voices down the hall, he came upon them in Harry’s room. They were all huddled around one of his bedside tables as he was presenting Hermione with a stack of parchments which Draco recognised as his account of his time with Fletchley.

Clearing his throat, the three inhabitants turned towards him. The Weasleys both looked like they wanted to say something vile but held their tongues, turning towards Harry who held them at bay with a simple shake of his head. Stepping through his friends, Harry came up to Draco who stiffened as Harry came near. There was the slight fear that Harry would hate him for his words, would truly believe that Draco didn’t deserve his company any longer. Instead, Harry smiled weakly. “Blaise help you sort yourself out then?”

“I-“ Draco closed his mouth and stepped around Harry to address the others. “I may have been out of place with some of my earlier accusations,” he said, coming as close to an apology as he would. Ron scoffed and crossed his arms whereas Hermione smiled sympathetically. “And I’m sorry, Harry, I should trust your judgement. I just…” he trailed off, unwilling to share his true motives in front of company.

Thankfully, Harry reached forward and pulled Draco towards him. Stunned by the public display, it took a moment for Draco to embrace him in return as Harry buried his head in Draco’s chest. It sounded almost as if he were chuckling into Draco’s shirt. “You can be a right poof sometimes, Draco,” he muttered standing back. “This is hard for both of us, isn’t it? For different reasons.”

Withdrawing Harry from him, Draco turned back to their company who appeared shell shocked at their embrace. “Hard for the both of us, indeed,” he drawled, “Two Weasleys and a Harry Potter in my guest rooms…it appears I am undergoing a midlife crisis.”

Harry laughed and swatted Draco playfully on the arm. “Harry…I thought he said not to touch…I mean,” Ron started confusedly as he gestured between the two of them.

“I don’t really feel comfortable being touched, yet,” he admitted, “Unless it’s Draco.”

“Why him?” Ron returned, his voice twinging with hurt.

“Ronald,” Hermione hissed under her breath, her cheeks colouring, “It’s common for victims to feel more comfortable with their rescuers than they even do with their spouses,” she explained.

Draco opened his mouth to argue but Harry quickly stepped in. “That’s not what it’s about at all. Draco may have found and healed me, but he means far more to me than that.”

“Harry, you do know that’s Malfoy you’re talking about?” Ron reminded.

“Tch, lovely skills of observation, Weasley. If it makes you feel any better it took Harry some time before I was able to touch him with ease.”

“It’s more than that…” Harry began, casting a glance at Draco and avoiding his friends inquiring eyes.

“Harry,” Draco said softly, shaking his head, “It’s not their business to know and they need not. We don’t even…” he sighed, they didn’t even have a term or an idea of what they were to each other. Their relationship had clearly moved past that of Healer and patient or house mate. Yet, were they partners? Draco refused to define it, he refused to push anything upon Harry he didn’t want. It had been nearly three months…was that enough time for Harry to feel comfortable being with somebody else? ‘If earlier today was any indication, I would say yes,’ Draco thought inwardly, recalling the determined man writhing on top of him.

“We were thinking that we should add what we knew of Harry and Justin’s relationship before Harry disappeared. And any information about the last time we saw him. We can testify with you and Harry,” Hermione explained, thankfully changing the subject.

“That, is actually a wonderful idea, Granger. The more individuals we have to testify against that monster, the easier the entire ordeal will be on Harry. That bastard better receive a life sentence in Azkaban,” he spat.

“That’s something we can agree on for once, Malfoy,” Ron said darkly.

A loud growl emitted suddenly from Harry’s stomach and Draco raised his eyebrow at him as he flushed. “What? We haven’t had any dinner, yet,” he said defensively.

“Do we have any leftovers?” Draco inquired to which Harry nodded. “I can have Cally prepare us all a meal,” he offered, turning from the room to do just that.

“We’ll be done in a moment, we’re almost done up here,” Harry informed him.

Draco left for the kitchens where he instructed Cally to prepare the four of them dinner. Just as he was settling down at his kitchen table, his hands in his head, he was startled by a voice at the threshold of the kitchen door. “You have a lovely garden,” Hermione said, her eyes peering across the kitchen and through the window, the garden illuminated by his backlight.

“Mm, I must credit all of that to Harry.”

“His Aunt and Uncle always had him doing chores out in their gardens and around the home. He is a very good cook, as well,” Hermione said, moving into the kitchen as she took the seat to the left of Draco.

“So I am told,” Draco drawled, looking passed her and through the doorway where the bottom of the stairs could be visible.

 Catching his glance, Hermione smiled. “He’s fine, they’re just having a two year overdue conversation.” They sat in silence for a moment before Hermione muttered the question softly, the one Draco knew was coming. “Why?”

Sighing, he turned away from Hermione and glanced over at the kitchen window as well. “Felix Felicis gave me no other choice than to discover Harry in his…particular situation,” he said delicately. “I certainly could not leave him, nor did I view it as such an option. It took a great deal not to return to that flat, to make Fletchley pay for what he had done. It was inhumane. I saw a lot of similar situations through the course of the war but…nothing like that,” Draco admitted.

“What made you not return to Fletchley?”

“I knew Harry needed me here more than he needed me to avenge him. If I had returned, I would be thrown back into Azkaban. That is not a place one wishes to return to, believe me, Granger.”

“But why, Draco? Why did you keep caring for him? You didn’t have to heal him yourself, you didn’t have to clothe and feed him,” Hermione said pointedly.

Draco caught a glimpse of the moon which was peeking out the corner of the window. “No, I didn’t, but I knew he would be consumed by reporters anywhere else. I am a certified Healer, I did what was in the best interests of my patient.”

“And that’s what Harry is? Your patient?” she was attempting to clarify, her voice sounded gentle and without accusation.

“No, he hasn’t been my patient for a long time,” he confessed. “But I will continue to do what is best for him, as long as he remains in my life.”

The honesty of his words seemed to affect Hermione as she sucked in a deep breath, leaning forward on the table closer to Draco. “Why?” she reiterated.

Draco turned to her at last, meeting her with a steady gaze. His confession to Blaise earlier came tumbling to the forefront of his thoughts. With a clear voice, he repeated his earlier words. “Because I love him.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide but what drew Draco’s attention was the two other individuals in the doorway. Ron looked purple in the face as if he forgot how to breathe. Harry, however, sported a heavy blush coupled with a sheer shocked expression. “Draco,” he said softly, but was interrupted by Cally who finally finished preparing yesterday’s leftovers.

“Master Draco,” Cally bowed, setting the plates down at the table.

Draco bit back his own embarrassment and gestured at the food. “Sit, Weasley, help yourselves,” he offered. Ron came to sit beside his wife as Harry fell wordlessly beside Draco, unable to take his eyes off of him.

“Malfoy, did I just hear what I bloody think I heard? No, ‘Mione, you can’t expect me to believe what that ferret just said!” Ron cursed, ignoring his wife’s grip on his shoulder in order to still him.

Draco scowled at him. “This is my house, _Weasel_ , and you will not talk to me in that manner while you are a guest in it. And anything I say about Harry is the truth, not that it is any of your business,” he snapped.

Once again, Hermione saved them as Harry seemed too speechless still to intervene. “Have you registered your House Elf, yet?”

“One of the other reasons we wished for your company here tonight, actually,” Draco began. “Along with registering the House Elf, the masters of the home must also be registered, am I correct?”

“Yes, it’s to ensure any illegal actions placed upon House Elves by their employers can be properly investigated,” Hermione explained, covertly elbowing her husband who grumbled something to himself before glaring down at his dinner.

“We were hoping,” Harry said, apparently finding his voice at last as he reached across the table, grabbing Draco’s hand in his own. Hermione’s eyes looked down at their hands blushing and Ron glared but said nothing. “That you could register us and Cally so that we could keep our current living situation away from the Prophet.”

“You’re actually going to keep living with Malfoy? Harry, have you gone bloody mad? I get he’s helped you and all but…he was a Death Eater! He wanted you dead!”

“I never wanted such a thing,” Draco recanted angrily, suppressing the urge to yell as Harry gripped his hand tighter.

“Well, I can certainly register the three of you, however…they are public files. If any wishes to see them, they can,” she said seriously.

“In other words, Fletchley can find me if he tries hard enough,” Harry muttered.

“No, I won’t allow him to find you. You’re safe here, with me,” it was Draco’s turn to hold tighter onto Harry.

“I know, but he could discover that I live with you. I feel safe here but…what if finds out where you work? What if he tries, I don’t know…”

“He won’t get to you, that’s what’s important,” Draco reiterated.

With a shared smile, they all finally delved into their meals though Ron did reluctantly. At first the conversation was forced, but eventually Hermione and Ron were revisiting the past two years of their lives – especially that of their children. Harry seemed to be enjoying their company, which pleased Draco but what truly made him comfortable was that Harry refused to remove his hand from his the entire meal.

Night settled in and it wasn’t long before it was time to retire. Draco had excused himself to the bathroom only to return to a quiet argument between the Weasley couple as Harry watched amusedly. “I’m not sleeping in Malfoy’s house!”

“Ronald, he clearly doesn’t wish any harm on either of us. Come on, it’s too late to apparate home and Rose is with your mother all night regardless.”

“C’mon, it’s been years. I’m sure Draco won’t mind and I could really use the company tomorrow. I was going to go to town, tomorrow, I still owe Draco a dozen eggs, you could come with me,” Harry suggested.

“Oh, bugger, you’re going to guilt me into it, aren’t you?”

Harry raised his hands in mock defence. “This is not a shelter for wayward Gryffindors,” Draco drawled sarcastically, “Your friends are welcome to stay, however, there is the issue that may not have crossed your mind but I have only one guest room which is currently occupied, Harry.”

“Er, about that…” Harry started, turning a deep colour red again. “I mean, your bed is certainly big enough for two.”

Ron automatically retched. “Urgh, alright so you’re with Malfoy, we get it, but bloody hell, mate, we don’t need any details!”

“Ronald!” Hermione whispered accusingly for her husband’s behaviour but Harry was merely laughing.

Draco had a difficult time keeping his own surprise masked. “If that’s what you want, Harry. My home is your home,” he repeated and began to turn from the room again. His nerves were beginning to creep on him again. Was there a hidden insinuation in Harry’s words, or did he simply want to share a bed because he wanted his friends to remain there? “I have an appointment with Healer Burnie in the morning, so I must retire for the evening. Granger, Weasley,” he nodded to both of them, starting from the room.

Retiring to his room, he looked around. His room had often been his sanctuary while he resided at the Malfoy Manor. Even still, it was rare when anybody saw his room. Even before Harry when Draco would entertain overnight guests, both would retire in the guest room. Blaise had never even stepped foot in Draco’s room. Harry had, the one early morning as he was wakened by Draco’s dream.

‘If anybody is to sleep in here, I’m glad it’s him,’ Draco said to himself, trying to wrangle a handle on his nerves. He was at a loss for what Harry expected. He certainly couldn’t want them to be more physical, did he? Even after everything he went through? Draco felt entirely uncertain with how he was expected to proceed but he would allow Harry to continue to lead, and his own instincts as scarce as they were.

By the time he had prepared for the evening and settled into his bed beneath the sheets, he cursed himself. He never had a proper pair of pyjamas and tonight, just like every other night, Draco was underneath his bedclothes wearing merely a pair of briefs. It was, however, too late to change into a pair of trousers as Harry appeared in the room, softly closing the door behind himself. “Are you certain you’re okay with this?”

“Yes. Are you?” Draco returned more pointedly.

Harry crossed the room to the bed, lifting his shirt over his head as he did. Draco ran his eyes over Harry’s toned torso and immediately wished he hadn’t as a deep ripple of arousal shot through him. “I trust you,” Harry repeated. “Being with you excites me…I feel safe and…It’s nothing like being with him,” he explained.

Draco knew he should have turned away, to give Harry privacy, but as Harry reached for his trousers Draco couldn’t help but stare as the man stepped out of them. He subconsciously licked his lips causing Harry to chuckle as he crawled into the bed alongside Draco. “You have an appointment with Burnie in the morning,” Harry reminded him, “Maybe another night,” he suggested.

“No, I wasn’t – “ Draco was cut off from his defence as Harry laughed again and curled up to Draco’s side. It was strange, that Harry seemed more confident than Draco. Draco was lying stiffly on his back as Harry lay his head on his chest, placing an arm across his torso and entangling one of his legs between Draco’s.

“Thank you, once again for everything. I didn’t realise I missed them as much as I did until I saw them. I need them in my life,” Harry whispered, sighing contentedly as Draco loosely placed his arms around him. “I need them just as much as I need you.”

It was difficult for Draco to fall asleep that night, but at the steady rise and fall of Harry’s breath, he soon followed.  


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of my new and returning reviewers. Also, many eternal thanks to my beta, ArithmancyMaster for helping me till now and offering to help upon my return. You are a great asset to this budding story. Thank you. My next update might take some time, but fear not I promise it will be finished hopefully by the time the New Year is just beginning. 

“Mm, do you want me to stop?”

Harry reached his hand behind himself, cradling the back of Draco’s head, pulling him closer. “Never,” he whispered, followed by a contented sigh.

Nuzzling into Harry, Draco pushed his body closer, leaving a trail of feathery kisses on his neck. His hands roamed the front of Harry’s body, memorizing each crevice and curve of his torso. With each stroke and kiss, Harry made a small, satisfied noise laced with underlying desire. Draco’s excitement grew, his prick prodded against Harry’s lower back which elicited a moan from the other man. “That’s fucking beautiful,” Draco breathed, lowering his lips down onto the curve of his neck, suckling it gently.

Stilling, Harry craned his head backwards so he could glance at Draco. “What was that?”

Draco swallowed the rising blush on his cheeks, had he really said that out loud? It was very unlike him to say something so openly, but with Harry he naturally felt like there were no walls. “The sounds you are making are beautiful.”

Harry turned on his back and beamed up at Draco, bringing him down as closely as possible. Draco was lost in the early morning daze of Harry’s emerald eyes. “Then make me continue to make them,” he said against his lips before bringing them together.

A surreal feeling settled over Draco as he moved against Harry; was he still dreaming? Had he entered a state of delusion?

As if reading his mind, Harry linked his legs about Draco’s and flipped him onto his back. Draco blinked up at Harry who smirked down at him, pressing his body against him, their erections rubbing against one another causing Draco to gasp. “This is real,” Harry said into his lips, kissing him again but with more fervour and purpose. His words sounded like an affirmation to both himself and Draco.

They kissed and experienced one another until Harry sat back slightly gasping for air as his heart thudded wildly while he tried to calm the excitement coursing through his body. His eyes trailed down Draco’s porcelain skin before stopping on a large scar across his chest. “That…that is from me, right?” Harry asked quietly.

Draco grabbed Harry gently by the nape of his neck and brought him back down towards him – he didn’t want this moment to end just yet. “No, that was petty Potter. This, here and now, is you. And this is me,” he kissed Harry more roughly. The past was a place Draco didn’t want Harry to dwell upon.

It was certainly surprising for Draco to awake in such a manner yet he wasn’t about to complain, especially as Harry began to roll his hips into Draco, rubbing themselves together. Wanting desperately to reach between them and grab a hold of his or Harry’s arousal – it didn’t matter which anymore – Draco had to suppress the urge, fearful of pushing Harry too quickly.

But it was apparently a morning of surprises as it was Harry’s hand that reached for Draco’s prick through his briefs. “Harry,” Draco hissed sharply, his eyes narrowing as his body jerked at the intimate touch, “Why don’t you allow me?” he stuttered.

Harry thought for a moment before nodding and turning onto his back. Draco began at his lips and kissed his way down his chest, stomach, until he reached the top of his underwear, tugging at them gently. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” he said, but instead of a response, Harry’s hand found its way into Draco’s hair and urged him downwards.

Draco smirked at his eagerness before fully undressing Harry, trying to calm his own excitement at having a naked Harry Potter in his bed. He also understood that what they were about to do was crossing a large boundary of trust for Harry – he didn’t want him to regret it. He wanted Harry to be reaffirmed that he could trust Draco, that he would never purposefully hurt him.

Taking his time, Draco began by kissing Harry’s hips, his nearly faded brand, and his thighs. Harry was shaking beneath each of his touches, but once Draco grasped his cock by its base he cried out. Draco looked up at Harry who was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed as he stared open-mouthed and aroused at Draco. Both of them knew they probably wouldn’t last long.

Slowly, Draco brought his lips to Harry’s length. At first he was tentative but once his tongue flickered out across the tip of Harry’s head and he had a taste for the man, Draco became quickly enthused. He gently gripped him while he took as much of Harry as he could into his mouth, running his tongue along the bottom of his prick as he did. Harry inhaled sharply as his hand wrapped tighter around the strands of Draco’s hair, he bucked his hips upwards.

“Fuck, Draco,” he whispered as the man on top of him began to work quickly.

Draco lost himself between Harry’s satisfied hums and occasional hushed words, and he wasn’t sure when he had grabbed himself with his free hand but soon he felt himself reaching a climax alongside Harry. Draco worked faster, harder, until he took as much of Harry into his mouth as he could and Harry tensed underneath him, moaning as he came into Draco’s mouth.

Harry’s hand relaxed in Draco’s hair and Draco collapsed on Harry, resting on his abdomen. “That was…” Harry trailed off.

“Yeah,” Draco concurred. “Was that alright?”

“Better than,” Harry said quickly. “Thank you, for not –“

“Er, Harry? A-are you in there?”

Draco groaned as he heard the redhead’s voice on the other side of the door. He wanted to relish this post-orgasm bliss of laying in his bed alongside Harry. “Ah, yeah…we’ll be out in a moment,” he called back.

“Do we have to?”

Harry passed Draco his wand from the bedside table, “We do. You have an appointment with Healer Burnie,” he reminded him, “Can you scourgify us?”

Propping himself up on his elbows, Draco eyed Harry carefully as he still held his wand. “Why don’t you try?” he suggested. Harry had still yet to use magic, despite carrying around Draco’s old wand most of the time, but he was much more comfortable with Draco using magic in his presence or even on him from time-to-time.

After a moment, Harry conceded to the suggestion and gripped Draco’s wand a little tighter. “ _Scourgify_ ,” the small tingle left from the charm fleeted across both Harry and Draco. “Wow, just like riding a broomstick,” he muttered, a small smile on the corner of his mouth.

Reluctantly, both men dragged themselves out of bed and Draco hurried for the shower. Upon casting a quick tempus, he certainly was about to be late for his meeting with Healer Burnie and he couldn’t imagine she would be very pleased if that were the case. When he was ready, dressed in a heavier set of black robes which still bore his family signet on its breast, he came into the kitchen to find Harry with his friends sitting at the table, merrily talking as if two years of pain hadn’t separated them. Draco pursed his lips, suppressing the urge to once again comment that he thought Ron and Hermione were not worthy of such forgiveness.

“Off to see Healer Burnie then?” Harry quipped.

“Healer Burnie?” Hermione reiterated, furrowing her brows as if that name should mean something to her. She searched for a moment before looking both brightly and confusedly at Draco. “Why do you have a meeting with Healer Burnie, isn’t she the head for the mental health ward at St. Mungo’s?”

Draco shot Harry a silent question and the raven-haired man inclined his head, allowing him to speak of it. “Ever since I – er, found Harry, I have been meeting regularly with Holly and she has been working with me in his recovery. Though she remains unawares of my patient’s identity, she has been a monumental help.”

“Her and Blaise,” Harry added.

Ron wrinkled his nose as if he had smelt something sour. “I still can’t really believe it, mate, a bunch of Slytherins helping the Boy Who Lived?”

Before Harry could respond, Draco coolly spoke from where he was hovering behind Harry. “What we all were in school matters little now, don’t you agree _Officer Weasley_ ,” Draco said pointedly. “As a Healer, as a human being, you couldn’t expect me not to assist Harry. As my friend, you couldn’t expect Blaise to leave us helpless.”

“I know, I know,” Ron waved his hands dismissively, “It’s just still odd, y’know?”

“I think what Ronald means to say,” Hermione began slowly, “Is that your…relationship…may take some time to get used to,” she slowly elucidated.

“Do you have time for breakfast, Draco, I was going to make some for us all before they have to get home to their kids?” Harry inquired, hastily changing the subject.

Draco placed a hand on his shoulder and grasped it lightly, unwilling to kiss him goodbye in front of company. “Unfortunately, no. If I leave any later than I already am I fear what Holly may do to me,” he teased before bidding a cordial goodbye to the Weasleys and Harry before returning to his study and stepping through the Floo.

Healer Burnie’s office had undergone a slight redecoration since his last visit, to which Draco connected on upon the commencement of their session. “I hardly believe you came all this way to discuss décor, so what can I do for you today?”

Draco fingered the cuppa he had been offered on arrival, keeping his eyes trained on the steaming liquid. “My patient appears to have fully been healed, physically at least.”

“Even the curse scar? His brand?” she queried, genuinely intrigued and taking a mental note at the way Draco flinched ever so slightly at the mention of it.

“Nearly. I was able to develop a salve that appears to be slowly erasing it.”

“Developed a salve? I must say inventing a potion that can cure curse scars is quite the feat, Draco. Are you certain you did not miss your calling as an apothecary?” Holly asked, tapping the tip of her unused quill on her lips.

Draco frowned, taking a sip of his cuppa. “I know I have. I was never meant for healing.”

“And yet I hear you excel there as well. Especially if you say your patient is healed. How is his mental health?”

At this question, Draco stiffened. He had come here to discuss his inappropriate boundaries with Harry – curious if he was doing more damage than good by becoming emotionally and physically attached to him. “He has greatly improved. He is able to handle other individuals now, he even recently welcomed his old friends into his life…he still enjoys his solitude but I believe he is slowly preferring company over it,” he explained.

“And does he tolerate other’s touch?”

“No, only my own.”

“Has he shown interest in developing any intimate relationships?”

Draco tensed. His immediate change in his demeanor warranted an eyebrow raise from Holly. “Yes,” he said simply.

“And was it your or him who began the relationship?” she asked without missing a beat. At Draco’s horrified, gawking expression, Holly chuckled. “My job is to look beneath the surface, Draco.”

After burying his shock, Draco uncharacteristically muttered his response. “He is the one leading both of us,” he sighed, setting his cuppa down on the edge of her desk before running a hand through his hair. “Is it wrong to develop a relationship with him when I have previously seen myself as his Healer? Could his feelings for me be…what do the Muggles call it…” Draco turned his hand around in the air, searching for the terminology. Though he was required to have some knowledge of Muggle healing practices, he had never heavily delved into the arts.

“Stockholm Syndrome?” Holly provided for him, to which he eagerly nodded. Pursing her lips and leaning forward on her desk, her face became drawn and very serious. “That could very well be the case, however, has it been made perfectly clear to him that he is free to leave your care?”

“Absolutely,” Draco responded quickly. “His house is mine, he can come and go as he pleases. We are currently working on his defence with a few other individuals, compiling a case to present the Ministry with any day now. He often leaves the house, while I’m at work, to go to a nearby Muggle village. He even feels comfortable apparating and casting small charms…he is becoming more accustomed to magic. Over time, I can see not only improvement but…” Draco paused and turned away from Holly’s inquiring eyes that piercing into him, constantly calculating him, “…I see him becoming the man I used to know.”

“You sound conflicted about that,” Holly observed aloud.

“We never got on before this, I told you that. We were, well, mortal enemies you could say,” he grumbled.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew…” Draco said beneath his breath. “It’s odd, though, to see him becoming more himself – a man I never cared for before – but now I do. He is slowly changing into exactly how I remember him, and yet I care for him more each day. And he…he knows who I am, what I have done, he knows I’m…” Draco trailed off. Despite his kindness towards Harry, Harry still knew he was Draco Malfoy and always would be. How could Harry oversee that? Why did Harry want to be with that? Did Harry not hate Draco before?

“A situation like one this man has been through can cause a lot of things to be brought into perspective. Perhaps he and you are seeing each other objectively now instead of subjectively. As your Healer,” Holly said lightly, a hint of a grin in her voice, “I recommend you stop overthinking your relationship so much and enjoy it for once. I understand you are not one to take relationships lightly, Draco, but do try to enjoy it. It appears like your _friend_ is healing marvellously and I can recommend no more for him than what I have already told you.”

Draco had to bite back the urge to remind Holly that he wasn’t her patient – Harry was, and instead curtly nodded. They talked on lighter subjects for a few minutes before Draco’s time was over and he was about to leave his session, but only after Holly called back to him. “Mr. Malfoy, if you are indeed pursuing his case your improper and illegitimate healing will be brought into question. You will have to admit you breached your contract with St. Mungo’s despite having no monetary return on your services.”

“I know,” he said tightly, he needn’t be reminded that when Harry and his situation became public Draco’s relationship and career would be placed under the guillotine.

“I will vouch for you in court if I need to,” she said firmly.

Taken aback by the offer, Draco gawked for a second time that day at Healer Burnie who laughed once more at his expression. “Don’t act so surprised, Draco, you are a prize I have wanted for years and that in itself is reward enough.”

It was the first time Holly had admitted it aloud. She was the forefront in mental healing in the Wizarding World, she was sought out everywhere in cases where most Healers were lost, and yet she was obsessed with picking apart the brains of ex-Death Eaters and criminals…it had always been the case and Draco was still entirely unsure as to why she had been so desperate to merely talk to him. To peer into his life. Instead of contemplating it further, Draco bid her goodbye and started off on his way home. But upon arrival he was greeted by not the familiar face he was used to but by a bushy-haired woman.

Draco landed in his study from the Floo and nearly tumbled into Hermione who had apparently been pacing back-and-forth. “I had assumed you lot had left,” Draco drawled, walking passed Hermione and towards the corridor, off to find Harry.

“Harry’s at our home. He Floo’d over with Ron earlier,” Hermione said quickly.

This caught Draco by surprise. He hadn’t expected Harry to want to see their children so soon after reuniting with them. “Hm,” he eventually settled for noncommittally. As much as he wanted to know why Harry had ventured over, as desperate as he was to have Harry back at his side for his own selfish reasons, he had to remind himself that he was his own person with his own life.

Hermione followed Draco to his desk and stood on the other side of it, staring pointedly at him. They were silent for a few minutes as Draco milled about, attempting to act as though it were perfectly normal to have the muggleborn mirroring him in his study. After a while, he crossed his arms and huffed at her. “What do you want, Granger?”

Taken aback by his sudden cold tone and the use of her maiden name, Hermione quickly recovered herself before drawing her lips into a thin line. “I wanted to thank you, for everything you’re doing for Harry and everything you’ve done. I can’t imagine –“

“Don’t,” Draco sharply cut her off. “I want nothing to do with your throes of appreciation and there’s not need to be imagining what could have happened otherwise.”

“Yes, but-“

“Granger,” he snapped, placing both of his hands on his desk and leaning forward. “I invited you here for Harry’s sake, and now that he is at your house I would advise you to follow him there.”

Hermione crossed her own arms now looking petulant and put out. “Why did you even help him?” she questioned more harshly.

Leaning forward with a snarl on his lips, Draco said, “I fail to see how that’s your business.”

“How in Merlin’s name can Harry even _consider_ staying with you instead of us?” she trilled haughtily, “You – you’re such a prat, Draco Malfoy!” Hermione turned on her heel and started towards the fireplace but Draco quickly reached for his wand, warding off his Floo network with a quick mumble under his breath.

Coming around the front of his desk, Draco’s demeanor changed wholly once again. “You asked Harry to come live with you instead?”

“Of course! You think we would just leave him here with you? But no! He insisted he stay here…he…” she stopped herself, harrumphing as she did.

“He chose me…” Draco trailed off, pointing to himself in true disbelief. Harry’s best friends, the perfect completion to that Golden Trio that used to piss him off for seven years, had offered him the option of staying at their home and yet he had chosen to stay with Draco? He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that grew on his lips. Lifting the ward on his fireplace, he ignored that huff in which Hermione left as he was still in a daze.

Harry was offered a way out. He certainly wasn’t experiencing any of that Stockholm syndrome he and Holly had talked about earlier. Harry truly wanted to be with him. For him. For whatever their relationship was.

And what was their relationship? Were they dating? Boyfriends? ‘Well, like a right twat you just admitted that you loved him without having told him yourself first,’ he reminded himself, knowing there was no going back from that.

Not too long after Draco had sent Hermione through the fireplace was it roaring up again, this time with only Harry coming through. He didn’t waste any time in striding over to Draco who was reseated at his desk mulling over some finances, a large smile plastered across his face. He pushed Draco back, the chair screeching against the floor, and straddled him, shoving him against the back of it.

Draco looked up shocked and unmoving. “You really pissed ‘Mione off,” Harry said lowly, leaning against Draco heavily, tugging the hem of his shirt out of his trousers.

Blinking away his confusion, Draco merely sat as Harry eyed him lustfully, now working at the buttons of his shirt. “Should you not be cross with me?” he eventually asked, finding his voice.

“Cross?” Harry chuckled darkly, leaning forward to nip at Draco’s ear causing the blonde’s breath to hitch in his throat. “It reminded me that you’re still a bloody prat and you haven’t been replaced by some exhaustingly nice imposter. It reminded me you’re still the real Malfoy I know…”

“And what, all those years at school you were just harbouring the desperate need to kiss me – woah,” Draco was completely stripped of his shirt now and Harry’s hands were running across his torso, his eyes were narrowed and hungry. He looked impossibly turned on and when he pressed down into Draco, he certainly felt turned on, too.

“No, but I was so worried you weren’t being real with me but now I know you have been. You’re still a wanker, but I like you.”

“Oi, calling me names is in no way – fuck, Harry what are you –“ Draco cut himself off again because Harry had suddenly attacked his throat with his mouth. It wasn’t just tentative kisses and licks but he was nipping at his flesh now. Draco trembled underneath his touch, losing coherency of his thoughts as he still sat motionless.

“You’ve been impossibly kind to me but you’re still insufferable, aren’t you?” Harry said, though the question was rhetorical, his air blowing hot breath against Draco’s wetted skin, causing him to shiver. “And you can’t stand wearing anything other than trousers, and you’re fantastic at potions and I’ve never seen someone control their emotions so well and you can be a giant prat sometimes if memory serves right and according to Blaise and Hermione and yet…yet you really meant what you said yesterday,” he stated, once again not asking. Harry backed off for a moment, his eyes shining appreciatively down at Draco who could only stare back up feeling a bit lost. Eventually, Harry’s eyes trailed down Draco’s torso again and his hands quickly followed, running across the skin and then settling on the edge of Draco’s slacks.

Draco quickly covered Harry’s hands with his own, sensing where this was leading. “Harry, you don’t-“

“Stop treating me like I’m glass, Draco. I know I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. I feel safe with you,” he reiterated, “I _want_ to do this.” And with an assurance that matched his voice, Harry leaned forward and roughly kissed Draco as his hands worked at wriggling him out of his trousers.

Speechless, yet unabashedly hard, Draco sat there as Harry kissed him until he had to come up, gasping for breath. Without asking, and without Draco stopping to ask him again, Harry descended onto the floor in front of Draco, settling himself between his legs as he tugged his trousers and briefs all the way down past his ankles and then tossed them to the side. Draco was now sitting naked, save his socks, on his own study chair with Harry looking bright-eyed and as if he were about to devour the first meal he was offered in weeks.

When he descended, almost greedily and with complete abandon, onto Draco’s prick with his warm mouth, Draco immediately gasped at the contact. Harry was so sure of himself, he didn’t hesitate even a moment, and one hand had joined his mouth as it cupped his bollocks, the other gripped his thigh which was shaking underneath Harry.

Draco was lost and looking down at Harry was too overwhelming to bear, and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Eventually, he gathered up enough courage to reach forward and grasp Harry’s hair gently, urging him downwards onto him. But he didn’t have to, the moment his hand touched Harry’s head, Harry groaned despite his mouth being full of Draco’s girth. And then Draco was gone. His toes curled, his hair stood up on all ends and he threw his head back, clasping his eyes shut and moaning louder now. “Fuck, Harry, if you don’t stop. Fuck, I’m going to come,” he warned him urgently but Harry merely continued his ministrations and suddenly Draco was crying out as he came.

Harry pulled himself off of Draco as soon as he was finished, swallowing with a wince before collapsing backwards against Draco’s desk. Draco didn’t want to open his eyes, he didn’t want to face Harry because he was certain he would be faced with disgust or perhaps regret. When he did pry his eyes open, Harry was still leaning against the desk with his legs splayed out and a sloppy smile on his face. He wasn’t disappointed at all. In fact, if Draco weren’t mad, he would even assume that he had enjoyed that as much as Draco had.

Wanting to ask where that had come from, but unable to find his voice, Draco was glad when Harry eventually brought himself up off the floor. “Er, I think I need a new pair of trousers now,” he admitted, a faint blush rushing to his cheeks.

Laughing, Draco moved at last to reach for his own abandoned slacks and lazily pulled them on. “Was that alright?” Harry asked, a nervousness rising in his voice.

“Alright?” Draco repeated, grabbing Harry’s wrist and bringing him back towards him. They were both standing now, their chests pushed flush up against one another. “That was brilliant,” he whispered against Harry’s lips before kissing him gently, savouring the taste on his lips as Harry smiled around the kiss.

“What were you working on before I came in?” Harry asked, seemingly unwilling to move away from Draco as he instead wrapped his arms around his waist.

Shrugging, Draco drew Harry as close to him as he possibly could. “Just looking over some of my finances.”

“Do you need money?” Harry asked quickly, “I have a ton at Gringotts, I’m sure I could get it to you somehow.”

“No, not at all. I just need to ensure that I will be able to keep both the Manor and this house if I lose my job at the hospital,” Draco explained shortly.

“Lose your job? Draco,” Harry said seriously, prying himself out of his arms, “Why would that even happen?”

Draco tried to wave him off but at Harry’s stern look he sighed. “When you decide to go to the Ministry, St. Mungo’s has every right to let me go and lord knows Healer Downey is simply itching for a reason to do so. I technically violated my contract with the Ministry.”

“That’s insane, you healed me! You helped me!” Harry protested, as if the idea of it outraged him.

“I did all of that knowingly violating my contract.”

“Damn, that luck potion really wasn’t lucky for you, was it?” Harry mumbled.

“I think I can be the judge of that,” Draco said quickly, pulling Harry back against him. “Who knows, maybe next time will be better.”

“Next time?” Harry quipped, raising his eyebrow.

“Mm, I still have two doses of Felix Felicis left.”

“And what exactly are you waiting to use them for?”

Draco shrugged, “They will probably come in useful when I need to find a new job,” he fathomed.

Harry’s face automatically fell. “I really mucked things up for you, didn’t I?”

“I haven’t lost my job yet, I am merely taking precautions. Let’s not think about it. Don’t you need a new set of trousers? That certainly can’t be comfortable,” Draco commented dryly.

Laughing, Harry stepped away and grabbed Draco’s hand. “I do need some trousers but I was hoping you’d come back to bed with me.”

“Bed?” Draco raised his eyebrows. “It’s barely passed lunch.”

Leading the way out of study, Harry looked back over his shoulder grinning. “It’s been a long day. Besides, what’s life without a little whimsy?”

“Are you mad?” Draco teased.

“Most probably,” Harry laughed, “But you love it,” he added.

Slipping his fingers between Harry’s as they reached the threshold of his bedroom, Draco smirked. “Yeah, I do,” he conceded, trying to keep a smug smile off his face as he followed Harry towards his bed.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies this chapter took so long. I hope for the next to only be a few weeks away. Please enjoy.

“Not in my bloody house you will not!”

“Officially as of yesterday this was Harry’s house, too!”

“Little redheaded brats are _not_ welcome!”

“You can’t keep me from seeing him!”

“You want to bet against that, Weasel?”

“Oi, are you going to let him talk to me like that?” Ron finally directed his anger elsewhere, turning on Harry who was lounging rather bemusedly in the corner of the study, flicking through a book he didn’t quite care for.

Shrugging without looking up at his best friend, Harry mumbled, “I’m not his keeper.”

“Not his…no, you’re not his keeper but for Godric’s sake, I’m your best mate!”

Draco huffed, crossing his arms and turning his nose up into the air. “And I’m his – “ he stopped himself. He didn’t know what he was.

Harry sighed loudly enough to draw both of their attentions as he dragged himself out of his chair. He approached the heated argument and immediately slung his arms around Draco’s neck, peering almost exasperatedly up at him. “You’re my partner,” he finished for him. “And, couldn’t you just, I don’t know, not be such a prat sometimes to my friends? They just want to make seeing me easier and I’m more comfortable here than over there and they can’t always be leaving their kids somewhere else,” he explained.

Looking down at Harry, Draco grumbled, defeated. “Fine,” he said tightly.

Craning his neck upwards, Harry pecked Draco on the corner of his lips, smiling as he did. “Thanks, I will repay you. I promise.”

“Urgh, mate,” Ron groaned, dramatically shielding his eyes dramatically. “Bloody warn a fellow.”

Harry shrugged noncommittally as Draco turned seriously back to Ron. “Do you really think it wise you invite _children_ to our next conversation? I may not be a father, however, if I were one I would not want my child hearing what we would be explicitly discussing this evening.”

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times before clamping it shut, his cheeks tinging pink. “That’s a good point,” Harry conceded. “Maybe you should, er, sit out on this one.”

“But, this is important!” Ron sputtered indignantly.

“Granger can still come,” Draco offered, looking down at his nails as to avoid the scowl Ron was undoubtedly sending him.

“I’m his best friend, I should be there!”

Harry was chewing on his lower lip now, shaking his head slightly. “Hermione researched the process of the Wizengamot,” he reasoned.

“Blast, I want to be there for you,” Ron mumbled.

Tentatively, though his one hand reached up to Draco to grip him beneath his elbow, Harry gently let his hand rest on Ron’s shoulder. It was such a small gesture, however, both Ron and Draco knew how big it was for Harry to touch someone else of his own volition. “You are here for me and it means the world to me,” he said softly, smiling nervously at Ron’s gawking face before letting his hand drop back to his side as he sidled up closer to Draco who immediately placed a protective, and proud, arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks, Harry, just…thanks,” Ron said earnestly, looking as if he wanted to cry or hug Harry though he did neither. Instead he excused himself to tell Hermione the change of plans, muttering a thanks to Draco as well who shrugged it off.

The moment they were alone, Draco drew Harry as close to him as possible and embraced him. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered into his ear.

Harry kissed Draco again, this time on his cheek and lingered there. “Do you want me to pay you back now, or later?”

“The brats aren’t even coming anymore,” Draco returned, but at the offer he found his blood growing hot. Harry was continuing to kiss him now, this time near his ear. “Mm, well, I guess we have a few hours to kill before our guests arrive.”

Smiling from ear-to-ear, Harry took a couple of steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the settee. “Can you close the Floo?” he asked, and at Draco’s raised eyebrow he laughed and answered the silent question. “I don’t want to risk anybody seeing what I want you to do to me.”

Draco smirked and all too quickly took his wand out, turning off the connection of his Floo, before moving to join Harry on the sofa.

* * *

Three months ago, if someone were to tell Draco that he would be having after dinner drinks with Granger, Harry Potter, and Blaise, he would have told them they were barmy. But, all four of them appeared relatively comfortable as they settled in around Draco’s kitchen table. Or, he reminded himself, his and _Harry’s_ table. Draco had been elated when Harry decided to stay living there, alongside him, to such a point where he even legally registered himself to the household.

“I can take care of the lawyer,” Blaise said, drawing Draco’s attention back to the conversation. “Would Jackman be a good fit for this case?”

Draco raised his eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as he gently turned his half-emptied wine glass about in his hand, watching the liquid dance inside of it. “Jackman will undoubtedly win a case for Death Eaters, but for Harry Potter? No. I would rather hire Smith.”

“Smith? That bloke that works with the Muggles, too?”

“Yes, seeing as he does cases both for our kind and theirs alike, cases such as these are more common in a Muggle court,” Draco returned, “What do you think, Harry?”

Harry, who had been shoving the last treacle tart that Hermione had brought into his mouth, smiled sheepishly at his partner, crumbs falling from the corner of his lips. “Whatever you think’s best,” he mumbled, swallowing the last of the pastry.

Hermione, who was acting as a note keeper, dipped her quill into an ink bottle and scrawled quickly across her parchment. “Blaise will contact Smith then and would you also be willing to explain the explicitness of the situation?”

“Of course. And, due to the client confidentiality required by his profession, he will be bound to keep his trap shut until the time comes,” Blaise assured her.

“Right. And Harry, have you finished writing your testimony and timelines of all the events from the beginning of yours and Justin – “ Hermione stopped herself, blushing, “Finch-Fletchley’s relationship till Draco found you?”

Hardly even flinching at the name, Harry merely nodded, concerning himself with the hem of his plaid shirt instead. “I have arranged for your private meeting with Kingsley tomorrow afternoon, Draco, you still believe you can leave work early?”

“Healer Downey will not be entirely impressed. However, I am no longer concerned considering what will occur once he discovers I have broken my contract,” Draco drawled, shaking his head slightly at the apologetic look Harry sent him from across the table, silently telling him there was no need to apologise. “Will this meeting assuredly be private? I can sneak a disillusioned Harry Potter into the Ministry, but I doubt the Minister’s offices would allow for such magic to hold.”

“Kingsley knows that he is meeting with you and I have made it quite clear it needs to be private. He is more curious than anything, I do believe, and Kingsley is a good man-“

“Kingsley is a great man,” Harry interrupted Hermione softly.

Hermione smiled, “Yes, he’s a great man. He holds true to his word.”

Draco took another sip of his wine and peered up over the glass at the clock on the far wall of his kitchen. “Our fifth guest should be arriving soon, I should go and greet her. Blaise, why don’t you explain to Harry the proceedings of the trial. I have been a part of enough of them to understand how they work.”

“So have I,” Harry said somewhat defensively, “I was at yours. Your mother’s. Your father’s. My own,” he explained.

“A trial for Death Eaters is hardly the same type of trial you will be undergoing,” Draco returned pointedly.

“Malfoy has a point,” Blaise concurred, “These type of defendant cases, especially involving domestic violence, are a lot different than what you saw after the war,” he said seriously.

Draco swept from the room, leaving them to it as he collected himself in his study. It was odd to think that he was excited about the progression of this case. Why would he be so thrilled to pursue such a lunatic in front of the Wizengamot? ‘Perhaps because you want to see Fletchley get his just deserts before you give it to him,’ Draco inwardly reasoned.

Precisely on time, the Floo roared to life and out from the green flames the beautiful image of Holly Burnie appeared in Draco’s study. She was smirking, almost triumphantly as if she had just won the World Crup Competition, as she clutched a file Draco recognised as his own to her chest. “Draco Malfoy,” she stated, as if his name in itself as a greeting.

“Healer Burnie,” he inclined his head slightly, trying to remain cordial as ever, though it was difficult when Holly’s eyes were feasting on the room barely containing her excitement. “Thank you for meeting here in private this evening, not many Healers would agree to make house calls.”

“I had to assume it was of vital importance for you to be asking for my assistance outside of our sessions. You have quite the home, Draco, it’s very reflective of you,” she commented, her intense gaze piercing him only for a moment before sidling about the room once more.

“Is it?” Draco returned curiously, he had actually never thought of it before. When he first bought the small home, he had decorated it as he had seen fit and without much thought other than that.

Holly invited herself into the room, dropping the file onto the sofa as she did. She strode around, running her finger along the mantle place, pausing for a moment at his drink cart where she leant over and smelled one of the open crystal vases before scrunching up her nose. “You can see your refined tastes everywhere in this room. You can see your need for order,” she gestured at the bookshelves near the back of the study, where all the spines were lined up evenly and alphabetically as well as by genre, “You can see your family in all of the wealth, you can see your pureblood values,” Holly said this while picking up a small, ornate ball which was always placed by the radio on the window sill. It was translucent with a bit of red liquid rolling about inside.

“You know what that is?” Draco returned, surprised. His only other visitors who ever knew what that small piece represented were his mother and a handful of his old Slytherin house mates.

“I may be a Muggleborn but that does not mean I am ignorant of pureblood customs,” Holly clipped, almost offended. “It’s typical for pureblood families to own a small container such as this which houses Erumpent blood. Rare creatures, but pure in their own right, just as your bloodline is.”

“I’m impressed,” Draco said earnestly, crossing his arms as he attempted to not feel invaded as Holly continued her survey of the room.

“Ever since I found out I was a witch, I immersed myself into your history as deeply as I could. Into your customs, so I could replicate them, memorise them. I was and still am fascinated. And then, the war happened…I was terrified but even more deeply motivated to understand why individuals were so horrified of people like me,” she explained.

Draco furrowed his brows as he watched her, she was paused at one of the few portraits Draco had hung in his home, a still one of himself and his parents from a year before the war. “Is that why you wanted to be my Healer so badly?”

Holly smirked as she looked over her shoulder at Draco and then back at the younger version of him, reflected in the portrait. “Everyone who is anyone knows who the Malfoys are. Strong, true, pureblood family with unimaginable wealth and power in the political world. There were even rumours that your family owned a herd of albino peacocks.”

Draco laughed, genuinely bemused. “We still do.”

“You can imagine how your whole family sounded like a fairy tale to a Muggleborn like myself,” Holly continued, coming now to Draco’s desk and taking up the silver quill which was laid out there, aligned perfectly with an everlasting ink bottle. She ran her fingers through the feathers delicately and Draco could swear in that moment that if he weren’t homosexual and hopelessly in love with Harry, he would have been uncontrollably attracted to Holly.

“After the war I became focused on the rehabilitation of victims and their families. However, my true passion was still for understanding those who followed the other side. I was lucky enough to participate in quite a few psychological evaluations alongside the Aurors at Azkaban regarding some of their new prisoners, Death Eaters, there. Your father being one of them, before he passed,” she said, looking up at Draco intently now who merely avoided her gaze, his mouth drawing into a thin, tight line. “You always do that when I mention your father.”

“Do what?”

Holly grinned, dropping the quill and moving around to the front of the desk, grabbing a bookmarked text off the corner of it though paying no attention to it. “You tense. You straighten your posture, set your jaw, and reinsert that lovely stick up your arse,” she jeered.

Draco nearly sent Holly a snarl until he realised how tense he truly did feel. He physically relaxed, scowling at her chuckle as he did. “It’s as if you expect your father to come in at any moment and ridicule you from beyond the grave.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be sensitive regarding your patient’s loses?” Draco shot back.

“Are you telling me that you truly miss your father in such a way that you would categorise it as a loss?” she returned to which Draco once more set his jaw and she laughed, looking down at the text in her hands. “Potions for beginners? Surely you are no beginner.”

“It’s for my guest,” Draco said more seriously now, “Speaking of whom, this is my purpose for asking you here this evening. You will recall the reasons for my first contacting to you.”

“Ah, yes. Your _friend_.”

“Well, seeing as you are bound by a confidentiality agreement, I hope that you will continue to remember that when I ask you to join us downstairs.”

“Us? You mean, your patient is still living in your quarters?”

“As of yesterday, these are his quarters as well.” Holly raised her eyebrows now at Draco. Who responded to her silent question, “We are partners, as he calls us. And he has decided to pursue his aggressor in court and by doing so we want for you to evaluate him before hand and ask that you speak on his health’s behalf as well as perhaps my own indiscretions.”

Holly pushed herself off the desk. “Really?”

“You will be compensated, of course,” Draco added quickly to which Holly waved off.

“An ex-Death Eater has welcomed me into his home, it’s a Malfoy, and now he wants me to psychologically evaluate his lover?” Holly queried, her tone rising with excitement.

Draco shook his head, causing some of his fine fringe to fall in front of his grey eyes. “You are twisted,” he muttered beneath his breath, not so much caring for formalities any longer.

“Curious,” she corrected him, collecting his file once more, putting on what Draco could recognise as her professional face and tone. “I agree, then. I will do what I can to help you in court as well as your partner so long as you remain my patient,” she bargained.

“Of course,” he said quickly, to be honest the sessions no longer bothered him and if it helped quell her curiosities who was he to deny it? “However, before you meet with him, you should probably know that…” Draco took a deep breath, he wondered what her reaction could be seeing as she knew all of what had occurred to Harry. What would she think when she knew the saviour of the wizarding world had been kept captive for two years and made out to the man he was recovering from now? “It’s Harry Potter.”

If Holly was surprised, she only showed it in the slight dilation of her pupils. “I should have assumed it was, what with your need for secrecy and all,” she said after a moment. “I am prepared when you are.”

Draco nodded, leading her out of his study and towards his kitchen. In the corridor, they passed the few moving pictures he had placed up on his walls over the years. One in particular she paused at, it was of a small group of Slytherins at a Quidditch World Cup game after the war. “You don’t see your friends often,” she stated.

“I see Blaise,” he returned defensively.

“Yes, and these others are not considered friends?”

“They are, I just – “ Draco paused and narrowed his eyes, starting back down the stairs. Tonight was about Harry, not about allowing Holly to delve into his personal life any more than she already had.

“You don’t trust them,” she finished for him. “A man who trusts few is a man who values others more than most,” Holly said wisely, though her voice hitched ever so slightly at the end of her sentence as they came upon the kitchen. It must have been a strange sight for her: Blaise Zabini, clad in Muggle clothing and grinning like a child at Christmas at her, Hermione Granger’s bushy hair buried in her roll of parchment, and Harry Potter looking timidly at her, his eyes flicking to Draco’s every few seconds.

There was a moment of intense silence only interrupted by Hermione’s jotting of notes. Holly eventually invited herself fully into the room and was greeted by Blaise who basically shot out of his seat to do so. “Merlin, you’re gorgeous,” he said, sticking out his hand.

Holly studied Blaise for a minute, not taken aback at his tactless compliment but instead intrigued by it. “You must be Mr. Zabini?”

Blaise flushed. “You can call me, Blaise. Hell, call me whatever you want, miss.”

“Blaise,” Draco warned lowly, to which he put his hands up in defense, dropping back into his chair. “We are here on business,” he reminded him. “Holly Burnie, this is Hermione Granger.”

“Ah, Miss Granger, the name behind the new decree for House Elves?” Holly asked, extending her hand.

Hermione brightened immediately at the recognition, shaking Holly’s hand vigorously. “You two should get on just lovely,” Draco mumbled, “Two Muggleborns obsessed with reading.” Hermione seemed excited by this, Holly, however, sent Draco a chastising look.

“And this, as you know, is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Holly,” Draco introduced him more softly, coming to stand behind Harry who shakily brought himself up from his chair and looked down at Holly’s extended hand, shaking his head slightly. Holly understood at once and retracted it apologetically, taking a seat beside Hermione and across from Harry and Draco who regained their seats.

“Thank you, Healer Burnie, f-for coming here and – and for,” Harry was stuttering as he spoke, his voice barely above that of a whisper. Draco reached out to him, grasping his hand on top of the table and entwining their fingers. Immediately, Harry straightened up as he held Draco’s hand. “Thanks. We really need all the help we can get to get this over with smoothly,” he finished more smoothly.

Holly quickly noted his change in behaviour and tone at Draco’s touch, though she didn’t write it out. “Harry, if you wouldn’t mind I would like to assess your healing.”

Harry flinched. “I-I don’t like having magic done on me. Unless it’s Draco,” he explained.

“No, no. You see, Draco is quite the apt physical Healer, I have every faith in him when he tells me you have physically healed besides your favoured side. This could be lasting ligament damage, but it is of no great concern unless it causes you discomfort,” Holly elucidated.

Harry shook his head honestly, “It doesn’t bother me, and I don’t even notice I favour that side until someone points it out.”

“Good, that is good. But the type of healing I am versed in is less magical and more practical. I’m Muggleborn and my parents are both psychologists. Ever since I was a little girl I always enjoyed listening to their perspectives on people, their minds and how they worked. I have taken that knowledge and I apply it in a magical setting. I can assess you without my wand. Would that be acceptable?” she offered, taking her wand from her pocket and depositing it onto the table.

“Y-yeah, that’s fine, I guess…” Harry said slowly, his posture relaxing.

Holly was looking intently at Harry, though her eyes weren’t burning with that unnerving determination and passion Draco was used to, they were soft and gentle instead. “If you want my proper help, I am going to need to speak with you alone,” she explicated.

“Alone? Without Draco?” Harry verified.

“Holly, I don’t think-“

“Nonesense. Harry, do you think you would be able to do that for me? Just for a little while? We can stop the assessment whenever you want,” she promised.

Harry chewed his lower lip and looked between Holly and Draco a few times before slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, alright…” he agreed.

Holly asked if she could use Draco’s study as a private area, to which she then went and settled herself into not without Blaise whistling under his breath on her way out of the room. “That bloody woman is a viper,” he commented, receiving a glare from Hermione. “What? Have you _seen_ her?” he defended himself. “I’m bloody lucky I’m not her patient and that Draco doesn’t swing that way. Wouldn’t have left a bloke a chance if he did!”

Hermione looked at Blaise questioningly now. “What do you mean? Did Holly…?” she trailed off.

“She absolutely did and it was no secret. She’s bloody barmy over ex-Death Eaters for her research but something about the Malfoys…and I don’t think it’s strictly a professional thing for her. She would have killed for a real go at, Draco,” Blaise winked at his friend who rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, don’t deny it, mate!”

“After that article regarding our supposed relationship,” Draco conceded, “Holly admitted she was disappointed I did not exactly run for her team, so to speak.”

“It’s unfair, really, and the first time a lady has come along that I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that-“

“Really,” Hermione said exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air, “It’s a real wonder why you’re still single, Zabini, with the charming way you speak about women,” she bit out sarcastically.

Blaise laughed heartily, uncaring for the scowl she sent him.

Draco was pulling Harry away from the conversation and into the foyer of his home, embracing him as Harry fell into his arms almost limply. “You will be fine up there. Holly is an absolute professional and she is the best of the best,” Draco promised.

“I know. And I trust you. If you think speaking alone with her is for the best, I can do it,” Harry said assuredly.

“No. You can do it because _you can do it_. It has nothing to do with me,” Draco corrected.

Harry smiled nervously into his chest, burying his head there and taking in the scent of his mint shampoo. They stood like that, embraced comfortably together, for a long moment, neither of them wishing to move.

Eventually, Harry slinked away from Draco’s body and with a half-hearted glance turned away and up the stairs. Draco watched him go with pride welling in his chest mixed with a swirling of anxiety and trepidation. ‘Though I know you can do this, Harry, I am not so certain I will be able to,’ Draco confessed quietly to himself with a weary sigh. 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the semi-abandoning of this fic. I bought a house this year, started a new career, and have been overall neglecting of my writing and other hobbies. I promise to attempt to devote more time to this story until it is completed as I already have two others in the works I am waiting to publish upon the completion of this one. If my cadence of character’s are seemingly off for this chapter I apologize, I wrote it across a large time-span, I hope to not do that again. Either way, I hope you enjoy and I also hope to have the next chapter up by the weekend!

The rain pelted down against the window of the secretary’s office. Though he appeared poised and a mirrored image of his father at his age, Draco was a wreck on the inside. The Minister of Magic was never a man to fear – especially considering how kind and forgiving Kingsley was – but Draco still had his doubts about this particular meeting. Was there anything the Minister himself could do to harm his relationship with Harry? Could he move to have him taken out of his, _their_ , home? Would he force the trial to be public? Would he cross Harry’s own wishes and make it public soon before trial even began? Would he-

“Mister Malfoy, sir, the Minister will see you,” the young wizard secretary said as he allowed him into the Minister’s office.

Though originally it had been assumed Harry would accompany him by means of disillusionment, it was voted against by Holly and soon after by Draco. It was best to keep his new acquaintance meetings to a minimum especially in high-stressed situations. At least until they were completely unavoidable. Draco had to then convince the Minister with his own charm that he was acting on behalf of Harry Potter. How was he going to make him believe that?

“Mister Malfoy, sir,” the wizard repeated, staring oddly at Draco who had remained frozen for some time.

Startling, Draco nodded curtly to the man before entering into the Minister’s chambers, quickly having the door shut behind him.

Expecting to see Kingsley Shacklebolt buried in a pile of paperwork, Draco was taken aback as the Minister’s curious and beady eyes bore into him intently. There was a pot of tea on the desk, a cup already poured for Draco. “Sugar?” The Minister asked before anything else.

Draco, who had yet to take a seat, shook his head, a few strands of his fine, platinum hair falling from his loose ponytail. “No, thank you, Minister. May I?” he inquired, attempting to find his confident stride as he gestured to one of the chairs.

“Of course,” Kingsley replied. “Mister Malfoy, I was quite astounded when Mrs. Granger so heartily requested my presence with you today. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

There was no malice or hidden intent in his voice which Draco found comfort in, the man was genuinely intrigued with Draco’s being there.

"To be frank, Minister, I am not quite sure where to begin." 

"The beginning is always a good place, Mister Malfoy."

"Draco, please," he insisted, sighing. "Even from starting there, I am not certain you'll believe me without Veritaserum," Draco admitted, calculating Kingsley's features as they spoke.

The corner of Kingsley's mouth twitched bemusedly, "Now, now  _Draco_ , you and I both know such a thing would barely hinder a man like you. Come now, I have no reason to take your word for any less than it is." 

Staring at the sincerity in his soft eyes, Draco cupped his hands into his lap. "The beginning. Well, I guess it all began with me..."

Kingsley was patient. Draco knew he must have had many things to tend to but they went well over their proposed meeting time as he told his tale. He left out very few details, seeing as Harry said he trusted the Minister with his secrets and his past.

"So you see, we have persued legal aid and wish to expedite the trial, however, one such as yourself may see the need for privacy." 

"My, if I had known-" 

"If anyone had known, I am sure," Draco finished for the Minister. The sentiment was the same and Draco had to bite his cheek. If they truly had cared, any of them, then they wouldn't have allowed Harry to slip so far away in the first place. 

"I will gladly assist you both in any way I can. An expedited trial in itself begs attention but we can do our best to keep these trials from the public eye. I am able to lawfully keep the public from a private trial but I cannot keep them from outside of the trail doors. There are some in the business of papers who act like vultures; hovering by the Department of Mysteries for the their next meal," he clicked his tongue, leaning forward in his seat. Kingsley reached forward, dipping his feathered quill into his ink bottle. 

"May an audience with Harry be possible within the coming days?" Kingsley quipped. 

Draco frowned, "Healer Burnie believes too many new interactions may overwhelm him, we are quite concerned how he will fair with the trial itself." 

Kingsley looked up from what appeared to be him scrawling a letter post-haste with a sad smile. "You would be astonished at what that man can do. Even as a boy I saw him overcome more than I ever thought a human possibly could. Unfortunate, that he has to do that once more."

"Minister, if that is all I am quite certain he's anxious for my return," Draco said, beginning to stand. 

"No, no, that is all. I should have a trial date set for you by the end of the day, I presume sending it via owl to your residence is appropriate?" 

"That would be prefered, yes." 

"And, Mister Malfoy," Kingsley called just before Draco could reach the door. "Do take care of him." 

Draco looked levelly at the Minster. ‘Where were you to do that after the War?’ he thought to himself. "Of course, sir." 

* * *

A sharp wind whisked through the fence panels of the yard; the sun hid beneath darkening clouds of grey, the sky turning with threats of a rainstorm. “I hope it rains,” Harry spoke softly from his place on the one bench in the yard, off to the side nestled against the fence under the singular tree. “Rain’s so calming.”

Draco quietly joined him on the bench, slowly curling his arm around Harry’s shoulder’s. Harry immediately leaned into Draco – no hesitation, no fear, no force. He did it like a habit. They sat quietly for a minute before Harry spoke again. “What did Kingsley say?”

“He will do his best to expedite the trial and keep it private for you.”

“He believed you?” Harry quipped.

Raising his eyebrow artfully, Draco turned so he was looking directly at Harry’s angled face. His unruly hair tousled madly in the wind but it didn’t seem to bother him any. Draco wanted desperately to reach out and tame it but knew even with both of his hands he couldn’t. Instead, he brought his free hand up to run through the thick mane then let it drop to his forearm. “Hermione was quite right about Kingsley.. He is a diplomatic man.”

“Hm, I suppose.”

A comfortable silence engulfed them again. The same silence that would at night when Harry read in his arms or watched Draco brewing in the basement. A wind came so fast it howled, whistling in their ears. Draco started, beginning to stand to lead them in for fear of the oncoming storm but Harry grabbed a hold of his hand and held him steadfast. Draco winced, his grip was strong. Stronger than he assumed Harry was. He looked at Harry quizzically.

“Harry?”

Harry chewed his lower lip and cast his gaze to the ground, his grip slackened. “I-I’m nervous. What if the _he_ goes free? He’ll come after me, after _you_ , and I just couldn’t live with myself if-”

“Harry,” Draco said sternly, squeezing his hand. “I would never allow such a vermin to not rot in Azkaban.” 

Looking unconvinced, Harry slowly nodded. Draco sighed, and came to stand in front of Harry now. He reached out and gently raised Harry’s chin with his fingers. “I am scared, too. Of losing my job, of the opinion of my Mother, of...of losing you,” he admitted. The thought that had been torturing Draco for weeks, he let out.

Harry looked up, his mouth slightly open. “Losing me? Draco, where would I go?” 

Draco felt suddenly childish for having brought it up. Harry’s fears were mountainous in comparison to his petty thoughts. “It does not matter. What does is that he  -”

“Of course it matters. Draco,” Harry stood to meet him, looking up at the slightly taller man. It seemed in that moment, the fear Harry had just spoken about, had disappeared altogether. “I don’t want to be anywhere else. The outcome of this trial won’t change that. It’s hard to think of it sometimes, but the other day I was thinking that something good actually came from everything that’s happened. That something good is you. It’s us,” Harry pushed forward on his toes and pressed his lips softly to Draco’s. 

‘ He forgot his fear in a moment because of mine. This is the Harry I wish I knew in Hogwarts but also the one I despised...the martyr, the hero, the empath. How did I grow to love him so much and how did I not sooner?’ 

Draco smirked down at Harry as he felt the first drops of rain. “Come on, it would be a shame to waste an empty house.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

‘How can one make you love them and hate them all at once?’ Draco was standing in his study at the window, overlooking the lawn where Harry was flying. He appeared at such ease on a broomstick now and Draco enjoyed watching his finesse in the air. As much as his younger self hated to admit it, Draco was impressed with his flying skills – he really was a natural talent. Draco felt both envious and proud of his abilities. He was a fair flyer himself, but nothing akin to Harry.

 

And therein lied a plethora of old feelings for Draco. Draco was apt at many activities and subjects, however, in most of them (at least those that seemed to matter) Harry was always better and he needn’t even _try_. Draco spent so much of his childhood devoted to perfecting every magical art, every school subject, every feint and move in Quidditch, but he could never catch-up to Harry’s raw, natural talent. Not to mention his mother had been a muggleborn. 

 

Draco sighed, how did he still feel so petty sometimes? Harry had gone through so much to be who he was and where he was, but still... ‘If I had gone through a semblance of what he has, I would be an inkling of a man. I love him for his strength – and I hate him for it.’

 

Sighing, Draco turned around and back to his studies. In the spare time he rarely had, he was developing a new timed Sleeping Drought. It was then he spotted Healer Holly Burnie sitting cross-legged on his sofa. Her robe was open just enough at the knees to reveal the curve of her legs and Draco followed them to her heels. He always enjoyed the sight of a woman in heels; sophisticated and nearly sexy enough to turn his appetites towards the opposite sex.

 

“When one enters a room they tend to make themselves known,” Draco chastised, striding over to sit across from her in his usual armchair.

 

Holly raised a perfect eyebrow, her lips twitching at the corners, “One would also think you would notice the Floo when somebody enters. What has your mind so preoccupied, Draco?”

 

“Are you here for any particular reason? I was working.”

 

Not at all perturbed by his evasion of the question, Holly leaned forward. “I was going over my testimony with Smith earlier when we hit a snag. He suggested that the events that occurred after the War and leading up to Harry’s imprisonment by Finch-Fletchley are simply not even to compel a secure case.”

 

Draco blinked, he felt a heat rise up from his chest as his fists curled around the fabric of his chair. “Not enough? Do you mean insufficient evidence?”

 

“No, not that at all. Though that is a problem all on its own Smith will discuss with you this evening...we are simply saying that it will be rather difficult for the Wizengamot to believe that the great Harry Potter was abused so heavily and for so long by a man such as Fletchley,” Holly explained, her face eagerly searching Draco’s for the small flashes of emotion that crept out in the tired lines beside his eyes. 

 

“Bollocks,” he swore, “He’s naive, too trusting for his own damn good, is that not enough?”

 

Holly frowned. “We want to make this case so compelling that there is not a single doubt.”

 

Draco couldn’t help but agree with Holly. When the case comes to trial, if they don’t win and Fletchley doesn’t receive the worse possible sentence he can, Draco could only imagine what it would do to Harry’s progress.

 

“Is there anything you can think of that would cause Harry to be more vulnerable than normal?” 

 

“Besides everything that happened with the Dark Lord?” Draco returned bitingly.

 

“There is so much the public doesn’t know about what happened during the War. Harry is going to not only relive much of that, but we need to ensure there is something in his past that would make him vulnerable to-” Holly trailed off, searching for the words.

 

“Vulnerable to abuse,” Draco finished for her. “You want to know if something similar has ever happened to him.”

 

“Precisely, and Harry will not speak with me as openly as he does with you. I was hoping perhaps there was something of the sort you knew that happened to him in his childhood.”

 

Draco scoffed, “To the great Boy-Who-Lived? What could have ever happened that would make him vulnerable to  _this_ ? He was – is – revered.” 

 

“You of all people should understand that coming from greatness does not always mean great things.”

 

 

Harry’s arms slunk around Draco’s shoulders and down his front, he bent down to place a ghosting kiss on his jaw. “What’s wrong, Draco?” he asked softly.

 

A shiver jolted through Draco’s spine. When he was gentle and close, especially of his own doing, Draco became quickly aroused. But he had more important things to discuss than to get wrapped up in the way Harry smelled, the distinct stench of sweat from all the flying. Draco had waited in his office for him to finish and like always, Harry went seeking for Draco.

 

Draco placed a hand gently on Harry’s forearm. “ Holly was here, while you were out flying.” 

 

Harry stiffened for a moment before slowly standing up and coming around to the front of Draco’s desk. He took one of the two chairs on the other side of it and curled his legs up onto the chair, crossing them underneath himself. Draco almost smiled; Harry seemed to enjoy sitting like a child more often than not. It was an adorable habit, Draco had to admit. He noticed Harry had begun chewing his lower lip.

 

“What did she want? More time alone with you?” he asked in a low breath.

 

Draco raised his brow, “You should know I am avoiding that as best as I can. That woman is a viper.”

 

Harry was looking downcast at the floor, his eyes narrowed. “ You’re doing a  _great_ job at it.” 

 

Draco clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. He was about to breach a sensitive subject but Harry’s sudden jealousy over Holly’s keen interest in Draco caused him to seethe. “To her I am but a test subject, Harry. You think I want to be prodded at in the way she wishes she could?” he sighed, trying to relax. “She was here for a more vital reason. Smith and her had a meeting earlier today and they feel as though there is an area of weakness for your testimony.”

 

Blinking, Harry sat more upright. “Oh,” he simply said.

 

“They believe that simply revisiting what you have gone through in the War is not enough to convince the Wizengamot that you were weak enough to be so susceptible to Fletchley,” Draco explained carefully. 

 

It took a moment for Harry to process what Draco was telling him, but when he did he began to visibly seethe. ‘I have never seen one person feel so many strong emotions in such a short amount of time,’ Draco observed as he waited for Harry’s response. When it didn’t come he continued. “Holly and Smith believe we need more evidence of why you would fall victim to him. She suggested that something untoward perhaps occurred in your past, though I know that is utter nonsense in itself.”

 

“Why the bloody hell do we need _more_ proof of what that bastard did to me? Was watching all of my family die, my friends, and their loved ones, not enough? Was having Voldemort IN MY HEAD for YEARS not enough to drive me to weakness?” his voice continued to escalate and a red tinge crept up his neck to his cheeks. 

 

Draco remained calm, he had seen a fair amount of Harry’s outbursts by now to know one must not feed fuel to the fire. “I am not saying I agree with Smith and Holly, however, Smith is the expert in these such cases. They believe we need to procure a primary reason from before being involved with Fletchley which would cause you to be susceptible to his...abuse.”

 

Harry suddenly stood and slammed his fists on the table, Draco kept his eyes steadily trained on his partner. “Nothing bloody happened besides what you already know, why is that not enough?”

 

“Because you’re the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry. To them, to the Wizengamot, you are the strongest, bravest Wizard they have ever known. They are simply not going to believe-”

 

“But I’m not! I’m not even a decent Wizard!”

 

“No matter what you say or what we know, they will never see it like that, Harry!” Draco begun raising his own voice. He saw the reasoning, and he also understood Harry’s frustration, but he couldn’t place why Harry would become so quickly enraged and defensive. “We need a better reason! We need something, just so we can be sure that bastard stays locked up! Anything will work, they just need something.”

 

“Nothing ever happened!” Harry was bellowing now, his face nearly purple, his knuckles clenched and turning white, his breathing erratic. Draco looked at him with widened eyes.

 

“Harry,” he said softly, quickly letting go of his own frustration. Draco stood now, coming around the desk, and placed a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “What happened?”

 

Harry’s eyes flashed momentarily to Draco’s before looking quickly away. “Nothing,” he snapped.

Coming closer to his boyfriend, Draco reached both arms to encircle his waist. Harry appeared to want to back out of his touch but still stayed. “ Harry,” he repeated, “What happened to you?” 

 

Like most of his moods, a flip switched in Harry causing him to shove Draco harshly off of him. Draco stumbled and barely caught his balance on the sofa. “Fuck off, Malfoy,” he venomously snapped.

 

Before he could retaliate, Harry was storming out of the study and down the stairs. Draco took a moment before he followed, calling after him. “Harry! Potter! I am trying to help you! Fine! Fine! If you want to runaway from me then fine! Bloody  bastard!” He had followed Harry all the way out into the street and was standing on his front lawn now. Harry was nowhere in sight, Draco assumed he apparated. Draco must have appeared to be a lunatic, screaming in the streets like a common domestic dispute. 

 

Retreating inside Draco slammed the front door. “If Harry Potter is not the most difficult, emotional, bastard I have ever met...”

 

Draco spent the remainder of his late afternoon trying to calm down. Harry moved about on his own often enough now that he wasn’t entirely concerned with his whereabouts. However, the nature and escalation of their conversation unnerved him. Something had to have happened. Something big enough that Harry was afraid to share with even Draco.

 

Later that evening, just after dinner-time, Draco heard the Floo activate. He had just removed himself from the shower and had a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. He quickly made his way to the study knowing whomever was Flooing in had to be either Zabini or Harry. When he arrived he was surprised to see the Weasley’s standing alert in his study. Ron quickly turned around swearing, “Get some bloody clothes on you ponce.”

 

“One would think living in a dormitory of boys for six years would accustom one to the sight of another man,” Draco drawled, turning his attention to Hermione who was fixated on his bare chest. Draco cleared his throat. “Granger,” he said levelly with a smirk.

 

There was a small tint of pink in her cheeks when she startled and looked up at him. “It’s just,” she began, eyes trailing back downwards. “Those scars, they’re curse scars, aren’t they?”

 

“Ah, these, yes.”

 

Ron turned back around to glance at his chest as well, eyes widening. “They’re from Harry, aren’t they?” Hermione questioned softly, the pity laced in her words causing Draco to feel uncomfortable.

 

“They are. Now if you would excuse me, I would rather be clothed for this conversation as I am quite certain Weasel would as well.”

 

Once Draco returned fully clothed, he conjured them all up some tea and biscuits. “I assume Harry ran back to mummy and daddy?”

 

“Bugger off, Malfoy, he has every right to when you’re being an arse,” Ron countered.

 

“Me?” Draco began incredulously.

 

“Harry is...sensitive about that part in his life,” Hermione admitted.

 

“What part? The Dark Lord, the War? I understand that, but -”

 

“No, Malfoy, you dunce, growing up with Muggles,” Ron snapped, ignoring the disapproving look Hermione shot him.

 

Draco blinked for a moment. He knew Harry had grown up with Muggles but they weren’t that bad, were they? Hermione had also grown-up with Muggles and she was perfectly fine with that fact.

 

“They weren’t the kindest people, you see...”

 

“Granger, spit it out,” Draco spat.

 

“They were downright arses, alright, Malfoy? They wouldn’t let him eat for days sometimes, they locked him in a bloody cupboard for ten years, they had bars on his windows, they made him do chores like a common House Elf, they lied about how his parents died and who he was, he never even knew he was a Wizard till he got his Hogwarts letter...and I reckon, though he never talks about it, that they didn’t hold back from beating him, either.”

 

The hurried, spiteful explanation from Ron caused Draco to be winded. He felt the air squeeze out of his lungs and his head began to swim. There was a loud whistling in his ears and he was certain he could hear one of the two Weasley’s continue to talk but he couldn’t quite make it out. The information he was just given was almost too much to process.

 

Hermione suddenly shrieked, causing Draco’s attention to focus and turn to her. She was covering her mouth and Ron had his arm around her shoulder’s. “What?” Draco asked shakily.

 

“You blew up the mugs,” Hermione said shakily.

 

Draco looked down at the coffee table and the rug, shards of sharp porcelain scattered the area. Only the teapot remained intact. Draco took a steadying breath and withdrew his wand, waving it and muttering a Reparo. “My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.”

 

“Knowing Harry for so long we’re a bit used to things breaking without warning,” Ron admitted.

 

“You really care about him don’t you?” Hermione asked softly.

 

“Why would I not? I do not understand why you think I am so incapable of loving him.” 

 

“It’s just a bit odd, coming from you, still,” Ron said, gesturing down at Draco’s exposed forearm. Draco resisted the immediate urge to cover up the Dark Mark and instead focused on the matter at hand.

 

“I believe it is fair to say that is more than enough to convince the Wizengamot of Harry’s...vulnerability,” Draco said carefully, trying to hold down the bile of protective anger that was still threatening to rise. “These Muggles...where are they now?”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly, “Well, erm, we’re not quite sure...but I don’t think it’s wise-”

“Do you think I care what you believe is wise, Granger? These Muggles hurt Harry, for _years_. The only difference is he was a child. They deserve a fate worse than Fletchley’s.” 

 

“And we agree with you there, mate, but don’t you think we should focus on Fletchley first?” Ron countered.

 

Draco hated to agree with the Weasel but he found himself sitting back in his chair, nodding slightly. “Is Harry okay?”

 

Hermione smiled softly. “He’s fine, we made sure he was preoccupied with the children before we came over. He wanted us to tell you what we could and he couldn’t.”

 

Folding his hands across his lap, Draco inclined his head. “I’m listening. Tell me every detail.”


End file.
